


The Lighthouse

by TwoBoys2Love



Series: The Lighthouse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Not brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a loner, working in the tech field and on contract to maintain a small automated lighthouse. Dean comes to the island in search of a possible haunting. They meet and Dean enlists Sam's help in a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam didn't actually have to spend any time at the lighthouse. It was fully automatic. The closest weather station relayed current conditions to the weather center and that set off a series of electronic switches that controlled the lantern.  
  
There was only the gentle ticking of the central light and the way the wind whistled through the windows in the lantern room. It was peaceful, comforting and one of Sam's favorite places.  _Information technologist_  was the title on Sam's business card. IF there was a problem with the communication relay at the tower end; it was Sam's job to track it down and rectify it as soon as possible. It was a part-time contract gig he'd picked up because he'd through it would be cool to have access to one of the last working lighthouses in the world. It was.  
  
In the first three months of his contract Sam had only been called out once, but he'd been to the lighthouse a hell of a lot more than once.  
  
There was something about the place that settled Sam. As soon as he arrived at the bottom of the rocky lighthouse path he could feel the day's tension begin to leave his body. All the coding he'd done that day would finally leave his exhausted mind; the frustration from one of the rare phone calls he had to put up with would dissipate.  
  
The peace cast some kind of spell over Sam and he liked it.  
  
Finding peace hadn't always been easy for Sam. As far back as he could remember, things had been different for him.  
  
He'd never known his parents. They were gone before he had the ability to form memories. He'd never bothered to look for them. Why would he? Someone who had it in them to abandon a newborn baby wasn't worth meeting. Besides, after 20 years of taking care of himself there was very little room in Sam's life for any kind of relationship.  
  
Hence, the lighthouse.  
  
The silver key to the lighthouse glinted in Sam's hand as he turned it over and over.  
  
He was working on plotting a three-dimensional map that represented aquifers on a neighbouring island. The coding was superficial for him; Sam simply tapped a few keys every so often to make slight adjustments.  
  
It was Friday night and Sam was looking forward to a couple of days away from computers and equations. There was a new-to-him old copy of "A Tale of Two Cities" waiting for Sam along with a new Pearl Jam album. All he needed was the quiet and isolation of the watch room at the lighthouse.  
  
Reaching out, Sam pulled the curtain back slowly and leaned back in his chair so he could see the lighthouse off on the horizon.  _Still there_ , he thought.  
  
The building stood tall at the end of Fender Point. The sea-roughened white paint almost seemed like a second skin, aging and worn. But it fit there; the lighthouse belonged in Langdon. It was just an extension of the island.  
  
Sam let the curtain fall back into place and the room dimmed slightly. He checked his watch. Only a few more hours until sunset and he could head over to his weekend refuge. He smiled.  
  
/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\  
  
By 8 O'Clock, Sam was pulling on his boots and heading out the door of his house. The rocky path was hard to navigate in the twilight but it didn't matter. Sam had walked the path countless times; he knew it like the back of his hand.  
  
A cool wind slipped up over the cliff and tousled Sam's hair. He shivered slightly. Winter was on its way; Sam could smell it in the air.  
  
The wind picked up as Sam neared the dirt road out to the lighthouse. The gravel crunched under Sam's boots as he trudged along. He shifted his backpack to the other shoulder and picked up his pace. The wind seemed to bite into his skin.  
  
The one drawback of the lighthouse was the cold. Sam had done his best to create a cozy space in the watchroom. He found the whirring of the rotator soothing. Sound and light. All made Sam feel safe for some reason. There were times when he couldn't even understand himself.  
  
Sam leaned down and pulled a beer out of the cooler. There were 99 steps up to the top of the lighthouse and Sam was thirsty.  
  
He cocked his head; listened intently to the whining metal of the cast iron spiral stairs. The wind had to be about forty mph. He was hoping for a storm.  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Sam sighed. The week had seemed  _really_  long. He'd even had the misfortune of having to attend a few meetings on the mainland. Far too much time was wasted in meetings as far as Sam was concerned.  
  
It wasn't that he had an intense dislike of people; he just didn't connect with many of them. Priorities. Sam's were very different.  
  
He worked like everyone else but ; sure his job was a little more complex than many. His life far more simple. It made everything easier. The simpler the better.  
  
A swirl of wind blew through the pages of Sam's book and Sam's eyes darted to the top of the star case. The was a loud clang from below. It sounded like the main door had been left open. The thing was, Sam  _knew_  that he had closed it.  
  
A shiver of awareness moved through Sam's body. He crouched down and moved toward the railing. Leaning forward slowly, Sam peered down into the darkness.  
  
His eye weren't able to identify any unfamiliar shapes. Maybe the wind was making him hear things.  
  
Sam closed his eyes and focused on the sounds in the old lighthouse. The groan of metal was unmistakable. There was a rhythmic banging a few feet down; one of the ocean-facing portals with a loose catch. Sam made a mental note to bring some tools with him on his next visit. There was another sound, faint, the irregular clanging of the flag tie in the wind outside. And then Sam heard something the made his blood run cold. Footsteps.  
  
Scrambling back from the stairs, Sam cast his eyes around looking for something to defend himself with. He wasn't paranoid; there had been some times in Sam's past when he had pissed off the wrong people. The possibility was slight, but it could be coming back to bit him in the ass.  
  
There was a clunk that managed to rise above the howling of the wind. Sam bristled and shifted over to the far side of the main lantern. He kept his gaze averted, protecting his vision from the overwhelming light that swept in circles around the lamproom. No more surprises. Sam set his full beer down quietly and picked up an empty bottle from under the counter. His fingers curled around the neck of the bottle and he pulled his arm back, reading to swing.  
  
A rare flash of lightening dueled with the lantern as it swung back out for another sweep over the ocean.  
  
Sam pressed himself back against the cool metal wall.  
  
A head of spiked, dirty blond hair appeared. Another flash of lightning revealed more of the intruder. Mid twenties, tall, well-built. The guy didn't  _look_  like a thief or a thug; but looks could be deceiving.  
  
The lantern beam was on its way back around. Sam counted down in his mind. "Hey!" he called out.  
  
The intruder stumbled, surprised by Sam's yell. Just as the guy turned towards Sam's voice the broad beam of light swung around and blasted the man full on.  
  
While the man was temporarily blinded, Sam slipped across to the other side of the lamp.  
  
"Fuck." The guy's voice was deep and he sounded pissed off.  
  
Sam grabbed the neck of the bottle so tightly his muscles ached. His arm swung back in a wide arc and he aimed for the blonde hair.  
  
At the last moment, the man spun like some kind of ninja. Sam's arm stopped as the man grabbed it in a painful grip.  
  
"Nice try, dickhead." The man's voice was gravelly; like he spent too much time in smoky bars.  
  
Adrenaline flooded Sam's blood stream. He lurched to the side and kicked out at the intruder's knee. The leg buckled when Sam's boot connected but the entire maneuver had back-fired by the time Sam looked up. The guy fell straight forward, trapping Sam flat against the lamproom floor.  
  
The weight of the guy's body squeezed all the air out of Sam's lungs; he coughed and grabbed at the guy's heavy leather trying to shift him.  
  
"Oww," the guy muttered against Sam's ear.  
  
A trail of goose bumps tingled down the side of Sam's neck and he tried to knee the intruder in the groin.  
  
"Jesus  _Christ_."  
  
"Get the  _fuck_  off me," Sam growled.  
  
"Calm down, Princess."  
  
Fingers tangled in Sam's shoulder length hair, and his head slammed painfully into the floor. The grip was tight and Sam winced and reached out to the side to try and find the bottle. He'd heard it rolling after it had hit the floor.  
  
"I  _said_ , Calm the fuck down."  
  
This time, the fingers twined through Sam's hair so tightly it hurt. "Fuck."  
  
"You gonna be good?"  
  
Sam twisted to the ide then tried to swing his fist at the back of the guy's head.  
  
A metallic click right next to his ear made Sam's blood run cold and he froze. It was a gun.  
  
"Now," the man said. "You're gonna listen and do exactly what I tell you. Got it?"  
  
For a few heartbeats, Sam thought about trying something else - then he felt the cool metal of the gun barrel resting against his neck. "Okay."  
  
"What's your name, kid?"  
  
 _Kid_. Sam's lips curled into a sneer. "M'not a kid."  
  
The guy rolled his eyes and thumped the butt of the gun lightly against Sam's shoulder. "What are you, 12?"  
  
Indignant, Sam frowned and reached up to sock the guy in the shoulder.  
  
"Really?" The guy chuckled and let go of Sam's hair to smack him across the top of his head.  
  
"What the fuck?" Sam let loose another frenzy of thrashing and twisting to try and free himself. He grunted and gasped as he strained against the solid body above him.  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
For some reason, the yell broke through to Sam and he froze again. Before he had a chance to even protest the guy was in motion. He hopped up into a crouch and half sat in a straddle across Sam's hips.  
  
The heat of the guy's ass seeped through the layers of denim between them and a shameful heat clawed its way up Sam's cheek and neck.  
  
The intruder chuckled again. "Awww, wassa matter? Don't be embarrassed. Better guys than you have had their ass handed to them by me."  
  
"Fuck off." All Sam wanted was his  _perfect_  and peaceful, weekend back again.  
  
"Be nice." The guy shifted and settled down on Sam's hips, pinning Sam's arms to the floor under his knees. "Now. You ready to listen?"  
  
There was  _no_  way Sam was going to agree to anything. He kept his head turned away and let out a frustrated huff of breath.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
There was absolutely no logical reason why Sam turned to look. There just seemed to be a different tone in the guy's voice. He sounded almost apologetic.  
  
His eyes locked on the eyes staring down at him. The lighthouse lamp flashed across them again and Sam caught a brief glimpse of his captor's face.  
  
Bright, emerald green eyes were staring down at him. The man's face was flushed with exertion and a curve of freckles was scattered across his nose and cheeks. He had a strong jaw, that all-American look; young but maybe not as young as he looked. He was certainly strong. It wasn't often that Sam encountered anyone who even  _looked_  like they might be his physical match. This guy had  _proved_  he was-  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
Sam closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed like it was time for a new strategy. "Sam."  
  
"There. Was that so hard?" The guy sat back a little and released Sam's arms. I'm Dean."  
  
When he opened his eyes again, Sam swallowed. The whole situation was crazy. Some super-hot guy (Sam  _was_  human after all) had broken into the lighthouse, attacked him and was now sitting on him like he was perfectly comfortable.  
  
"Get off me… _Dean_."  
  
"Now, now, Sammy. Be nice. I'm not getting off ya till I know you're not gonna take another swing at me."  
  
"Don't - don't call me that." Frustrated, Sam reached up and tangled his hands in his hair. "I'm not gonna hurt you; get offa me."  
  
Dean laughed again then flipped his jacket back to slip his gun into his waistband. "More worried ya might hurt yourself, _Sammy_."  
  
It was just Sam's luck to get attacked by a smart-ass. Jaw clenched tight, Sam stared up with a stubborn tilt to his head.  
  
Dean held up a hand and motioned for Sam to stay put then he got up to his feet and took a few steps back.  
  
As soon as he was free, Sam scrambled back away from Dean until his back hit the wall with a muffled thud.  
  
Holding his hands up, palms towards Sam, Dean lifted an eyebrow and gestured toward the stairs. "It's been fun, Sam. But I'm gonna head out the same way I came in. No harm, no foul."  
  
Sam rubbed at something that was tickling his cheek and glared up at Dean. "Who the  _hell_  do you think you are? You come in here and. And you attack me-"  
  
"Actually,  _you_  attacked me-"  
  
"And you throw me around and wreck my place-"  
  
"You  _live_  here?"  
  
"No, I-" Sam's mouth went slack as he realized how absurd it was to be having a conversation with someone who had held a gun on him.  
  
"You're bleeding."  
  
Blinking a few times, Sam looked down at his hand. A bright red smear of blood ran from his index finger to his wrist. He flipped his hands over then rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans.  
  
"Here…" Dean looked around then grabbed a napkin from the desk. He held his hands up again like he was approaching a wild animal. Sam just sat there and after a few moments Dean walked over and knelt by Sam's hip.  
  
Sam flinched unconsciously when Dean lifted the napkin.  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean said gruffly.  
  
Suddenly aware of the pain throbbing in his head, Sam nodded.  
  
With a far more gentle touch than Sam expected, Dean smoothed his hair back and pressed the napkin to Sam's temple.  
  
"Is it bad?" Sam asked reluctantly.  
  
"You'll live. Might need stitches."  
  
"No way." Sam flinched back from Dean's hand. There was  _no_  way he was going to the doctor on a friday night. the last thing he wanted to do with his time off was get poked and prodded. "I've got those butterfly bandages."  
  
It looked, for a second, like Dean was going to object then he sighed and stood up. "Where?"  
  
Sam nodded towards the opposite wall where the first aid kit hung. He was glad he'd bothered with refilling it when he'd taken the contract. It wasn't like he'd expected to actually need it.  
  
He kept an eye on Dean. The man headed straight over to the first aid kit and lifted it off the hook. It clunked on the table and Dean flipped the latch open and searched through the contents. "Do you really live here?"  
  
It seemed pointless not to answer. "I work here. Well, I keep the automated systems running. It's peaceful. I come here, on the weekends because it's peaceful. No one ever comes here."  _Except you,_  Sam didn't bother adding.  
  
"People think it's haunted." Dean held up a box of bandages with a satisfied smirk on his face.  
  
"They think it's what?"  
  
"Nothin'." Dean shook his head and headed back over to Sam's side. As he fumbled with the box, Sam studied his hands. His skin was rough, there were scars on the backs of his hands. Whatever kind of work he did, it was probably hard work.  
  
"Why'd you break in?" Okay, so it might be a stupid question. But for some strange reason, Sam had the distinct impression that Dean hadn't come to the lighthouse with theft or vandalism on his mind.  
  
"It's complicated." Dean peeled the back off one of the bandages and pressed it high on Sam's temple.  
  
"I guess so if you're used to pulling a gun on people." His eyes traced the scars on Dean's wrist. They kept going until they disappeared under the sleeve of his jacket.  
  
"I thought you were someone else. but you  _did_  attack me."  
  
Sam folded his arms and winced as Dean pressed another bandage to his skin. "You broke in!"  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"You gonna tell me why?"  
  
"No. You gonna take anymore badly aimed swings at me?" There was a slight smile on Dean's mouth as he pressed the last bandage to Sam's cheek.  
  
For some bizarre reason, Sam found himself resisting the urge to smile in return. "I won't hurt you."  
  
Chuckling again, Dean patted the side of Sam's face with the napkin. "Good as new," he pronounced as he sat back on his heels.  
  
Finally, Sam was able to touch the spot on his cheek that was beginning to throb. The cut was bigger than he'd expected. It ran from his hairline down to his cheek. He frowned, trying to remember how it had happened.  
  
As though sensing Sam's confusion, Dean ducked his head down to catch Sam's gaze. "You went down pretty hard. Maybe connected with the wall or somethin'."  
  
Sam nodded, fingers still tracing the edges of the bandages. "Thanks," he muttered.  
  
"No sweat." Dean pushed back up and stretched. He sighed and straightened his shirt and jacket. "Got anything to drink?"  
  
Later, Sam might write it off to his head injury. "Beer, in the cooler." He lifted his chin in the general direction of the desk.  
  
"Awesome." Dean headed over, bent down and pulled a couple of beers out. He let the water drip off and then twisted the top off one before walking back to hand it to Sam.  
  
AFter Sam took the bottle Dean held out his hand and hauled Sam up to his feet. The lamp swung around and Dean squeezed his eyes shut to block out the harsh light. "How the  _hell_  do you put up with that?"  
  
"Not always on," Sam murmured. "And, I slept down in the watch room." Right on cue, the giant mechanism ground to a halt and the light flashed out. The small emergency lights clicked on and the room was suddenly dimly lit and a little too close.  
  
Dean lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. After a lingering look at Sam, he walked over to the window and looked out. "Nice view."  
  
"Yeah. And it's quiet. I like that. High up too - feels … I don't know, safter." Sam sighed. As soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. He sounded like a completely idiot.  
  
"Always go for the higher ground," Dean said quietly.  
  
"What?" Sam headed over to stand beside the intriguing stranger.  
  
"You ever hear anything strange up here?"  
  
"Strange?'  
  
"Well." Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Seems like a place like this might freak ya out a little. Late at night? Too much time alone?"  
  
"Like I said," Sam answered. "I like it here." I don't like people very much. Or maybe they don't like me." The latter was probably closer to the truth. People never seemed to want to spend much time with Sam, they always seemed a little unsettled.  
  
"So, no unexplained noises, bad smells? Any-"  
  
"What the  _hell_  are you talking about, Dean?" Sam put his beer down on the window sill and turned to face Dean.  
  
All Dean did was stare into Sam's eyes like he was  _searching_  for some kind of answer.  
  
The look was a little too intense and Sam had to look away. There was just something  _about_  Dean - something more than just the fact that he was a great looking guy. "Unbelieveable."  
  
"What's unbelieveable?"  
  
"Me," Sam answered with a shake of his head. Right at the moment he should be calling the Sheriff or , at least, telling Dean to get out. Maybe he'd finally spent a little  _too_  much time alone. He'd always wondered if that would take a toll on his sanity.  
  
Dean shook his head then took a few gulps of beer. After he lowered the bottle he looked over at Sam, eyes reflecting the moonlight that was coming through the window. "Okay, Sam. It's been a weird night. Hell, it's been a weird fuckin' month. I'm gonna just lay it all out there."  
  
"Okay." Sam's heart started to beat a little faster and he licked his lips.  
  
"I got some info a while back that there was a haunting on this island."  
  
"Like ghosts and poltergeists?" Sam pressed his beer over the bandages. The wound was radiating a sharp pain now that he was standing.  
  
Dean's lips rolled together for a moment, then he took another drink. "Yeah, kinda like that."  
  
Sam's lips twitched as he tried not to smile. "You like those Ghost Hunter guys on TV? Where's your camera?"  
  
Scowling, Dean set his beer down and leaned on the sill. "Those guys are idiots. Miracle they haven't been killed yet if you ask me."  
  
"You're not trying to tell me ghosts and EVPs are real, are you?" Sure, Sam had seen the TV shows. He only watched because he liked to see grown men scare the hell out of themselves.  
  
"Fan of the show, Sam?"  
  
All Sam did was glare.  
  
"EVPs are bullshit," Dean said. Most of the stuff they use is stupid. He looked exasperated and threw his hands up. "Unbelievable."  
  
"What do you do then?"  
  
Dean was silent for a while as though he was searching for the right words. "I go to places - when I hear about activity that's - out of the ordinary. I investigate if there's something to it. I do what I can to get rid of it."  
  
"The Exorcist?"  
  
"You must watch a hell of a lot of TV."  
  
"I like horror shit." Being scared was, at least, a way to feel  _some_ thing.  
  
"Look. I just try to help people."  
  
"I didn't need help," Sam said stubbornly.  
  
"Well, I know that  _now_ ," Dean deadpanned.  
  
"No ghosts here," Sam said. It was, quite possibly, the strangest conversation he had ever had. The strangest part of all was that he  _believed_  Dean. There was something convincing about him.  
  
"No ghosts." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck for a few moments. "Guess I should get goin'."  
  
It felt a little disappointing. It shouldn't. It made  _no_  sense what-so-ever for Sam to  _want_  to spend time with this random stranger. There was just something in those green eyes; it puzzled Sam a little but he was drawn to the man. "Dean?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I've heard that the old firestation is haunted. I mean. Old stories." That much was true. Sam had overheard one of the old guys telling the story one morning at Tina's diner. The guy used to be a firefighter back in the day. Sam had been intrigued  
  
"Hey." Dean's eyes brightened and his face lit up with a smile. "Thanks Sam."  
  
Sam shrugged. It didn't seem like such a big deal. "No problem."  
  
"I'll check it out tomorrow. See if I can find anything." Dean drained the rest of his beer and put the empty down on the sill. He stepped forward and cupped his palm against Sam's cheek. For a few moments his thumb swept over the bandages then he let his hand fall.  
  
The touch left Sam feeling a little over-heated and he cleared his throat nervously. "All good?"  
  
Nodding, Dean took a few steps backwards. "Not bleeding. So good. Yeah. You'll still be handsome, Sammy."  
  
Another flush of heat rose in Sam's body and he smiled shyly before looking down at the floor.  
  
Another step back and Dean reached the stair railing. "Guess. I guess I should get going."  
  
Sam nodded and lifted his gaze. "You stayin' at Erma's guesthouse?"  
  
Dean nodded. "She's quite a character."  
  
"She is." Sam pressed his lips together. "Maybe I'll see you again before you leave the island." He wasn't even sure why he said it; it wasn't like him at all to even want to see someone, let alone someone who had broken in.  
  
"Maybe," Dean said as he turned to head down the stairs. "Night … bumpin' into ya, Sammy."  
  
"Sam." Sam smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear.  
  
"Yeah." Dean laughed and winked before beginning the long jog down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can't resist going out to find Dean. He's not sure, by the end of the evening, if that was the best choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you Fiercelynormal for the beta :)

Sam managed to wait one entire night before he went looking for Dean. Well, he didn't really _go looking_ for Dean. It wasn't like he could help the fact that Erma's Boarding house was right above the general store and cafe. It was a small town on a very small island. Not much went on in town that managed to go unnoticed

For instance, Sam knew that Dean had to still be on the island because the ferry wouldn't leave until around 3 pm. Unless the ghost hunter had a boat of his own there was no other way off the island. That was another one of the things Sam liked about island living. He could always find out who was around.

The bell rang when Sam pushed the shop door open and he let it go behind him.

Erma was wiping down the cafe counter. Curls of grey hair were all tucked under a baseball cap, her soft wrinkled cheeks were rosy and she smiled when she saw Sam. "Well, I'll be damned. Sam. Left yer house two times this week."

Sam laughed and headed over to sit down on one of the red vinyl-covered stools at the counter. He pressed his hands to the cool counter and smiled up at Erma. "I had a craving for a piece of your blueberry pie. Tell me you have some."

Wiping her hand on her apron, Erma walked the length of the counter. "Of course I do. You _know_ Saturday is blueberry day."

Erma's menu was as regular as clockwork. Monday was strawberry pie. Saturday was blueberry. Those were Sam's favorites so he didn't pay attention to the others.

"Ice cream, honey?"  
"Yes please, Ma'am." Sam pulled a napkin out of the silver box on the counter and ran his hand over it to smooth it out. "Hey, Erma. Your guest gone out already today?"

The old lady turned back towards Sam with pie and vanilla ice cream in hand. "You know Dean?"

Sam kept his eyes locked on the napkin. Erma was like some creepy kind of ninja grandma. She always said she could tell if people were lying by their aura. Sam wasn't sure he believed auras even existed but he wasn't going to underestimate Erma.

"No, Ma'am. Well, I mean I met him last night but I don't know him. He said he was stayin' here." The plate clunked when Erma set it in front of him.

"He's a good lookin' young man," Erma mused. She leaned back against the counter behind her and fixed Sam with a pointed gaze.

"Yeah?" Sam glanced at Erma long enough to see the knowing smile on her face then looked back down at his pie. It _did_ smell good. "I 'spose he's good lookin'."

Erma let out her trademark cackle and turned to pour herself a coffee. "How'd you meet him?"

It may have been a bad idea to ask after Dean. Erma wasn't likely to give up until she knew every last detail.

Sam stabbed a piece of pie and shoved it into his mouth so he'd have some time to think. In the entire time he'd held a key to the lighthouse, no one had ever visited. Sticking as close to the truth as possible seemed like the safest strategy.

"He came up to the lighthouse, Erma. Heard some stories about the place."

"Interesting fella." Erma slurped her coffee noisily. 

"You talk to him?" Sam tried to act uninterested and put another forkful of pie in his mouth. "Delicious," he mumbled.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. 'Course I talked to him. Don't let complete strangers stay in my house." Sam dragged the back of his hand across his mouth to brush off some crumbs.

After he swallowed the mouthful of pie, Sam grinned. "Think he's a nice guy?"

Judging by the look on Erma's face, that question was _definately_ too revealing. Erma fixed Sam with a stern expression. 

"What?" Sam muttered through another mouthful of pie and ice cream.

"Sam Wesson. Are you snoopin' around about this young man?"

Shaking his head frantically, Sam chewed quickly. "No. No. Just curious. Don't get many visitors at the lighthouse."

"True enough," Erma said. She slurped her coffee again. "Don't get you in here askin' questions about folks often either."

"Geez, Erma. Gimme a break. I just - he seemed like a nice guy." Sam dropped his head to hide behind his hair. The woman was like an inquisitor.

"Oh, he's _nice_ alright." Erma laughed again and topped up her coffee.

"Who's nice? You already breakin' my heart, Erma?"

The sound of Dean's voice made all the little hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up.

"Dean." Erma shook her head and aimed a grin just over Sam's shoulder. "You _are_ a silver-tongued devil, young man."

Hunching his shoulders, Sam felt every _bit_ of his height when all he really wanted to do was blend into his surroundings. He hadn't really thought of all the potential outcomes to a trip down to Erma's.

"Sam? That you?"

A hand slapped down on Sam's shoulder and he cringed. Not for the first time in his life, he wished he were invisible.

"Our Sam here is eatin' pie and pretendin' he didn't come down here lookin' for you." Erma put another place setting on the bar and gestured for Dean to sit.

Sam had reached the point where he would settle for a hole opening up underneath him and swallowing him whole.

Dean climbed onto the stool and bumped his shoulder against Sam's. "Aw, that's cute, Sammy. Guess I made an okay impression on you after all."

It felt like every ounce of blood in Sam's body had ended up in his cheeks and he rubbed at them for a few moments. "I. What. It's blueberry pie. Day."

Erma rolled her eyes and headed to the coffee pot. "Coffee, Dean?"

"Yes, please."

Lips pressed tight together, Sam closed his eyes for a few moments. When wishing himself away didn't work he sighed and turned to smile weakly at Dean. "I was just curious. Wondered if you were out, I mean."

"I _was_ out. I'm not now." Dean smiled at Sam then looked up as Erma arrived with a cup of steaming coffee.

"There ya are, son."

"Thank you _so_ much." Tanned fingers wrapped around the mug and Dean pulled it close to his body like he was cold.

As Erma wandered off Sam dragged his hand down his face. Nothing was going quite as he had planned it. 

"Sammy, you came lookin' for me? I'm touched." That damn gravelly chuckle vibrated through Sam's body.

"No. What? I. No. I just asked after you." Sam could already see Dean wasn't going to let him off easy.

"I'm here now." Dean took a sip of coffee then set the mug down gently. "Why'd you wanna find me?"

Shrugging, Sam pushed his plate away. He'd lost his appetite.

"Playing hard to get now?"

Sam's head whipped toward Dean only to find the man's eyes sparkling with amusement. As soon as he realized Dean was teasing him, Sam relaxed a little.

"Seriously," Dean said quietly. "What's up?"

Tilting his head to the side Sam studied Dean's face. He looked tired, there were dark circles under his eyes and his skin was a little more pale than it had been the night before. 

"Curious, I guess?" Sam finally said. 

"'Bout what?"

"Your ghosts."

"That all?"

It was hard to read Dean's expression. His smile had faded a little and the teasing sparkle was gone.

"I - uh…" Sam wasn't stupid. He'd pretty much painted himself into a corner. He sighed, certain there was nothing he could say that would save his dignity.

"Let's go for a drive," Dean said. He downed the rest of his coffee, pulled out his wallet and left a ten on the counter. "I got it."

Dean was already halfway to the door by the time Sam's brain caught up with what was going on. He slid off the stool and scuffed his boots on the floor as he followed Dean.

"See you later, boys," Erma sang out. The woman sounded happier than Sam had ever heard her and that was damned disturbing.

Sam picked up his pace and managed to catch the door after Dean headed outside.

"Where we goin'?"

"Firehouse." Dean headed around the corner of Erma's to the back lot.

Sam's eyes widened when he saw the black car gleaming in the early morning sunlight. "Wow," he murmured.

"I know, right?" Pride was written all over Dean's face and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Sexy, isn't she?"

That was one word for it. Sam was finding it hard to swallow again as he watched Dean stroll along the side of the car, trailing the tips of his fingers on the paint.

Keys jangled as Dean unlocked his door. He climbed behind the wheel and leaned across to unlock the passenger door.

The car smelled good, Sam noticed the moment he settled down on the seat. "Chevy."

"'67 Impala. Original engine. A few body mods. Rebuilt her myself practically from scratch more than once."

Sam ran his fingers along the dashboard. "She's beautiful."

The car was silent and Sam turned to look over at Dean. He was staring again, like Sam was some kind of rare animal that no one had seen before. Then the moment was gone and Dean fired up the engine. A deep rumble filled the car and Sam could feel it in the middle of his chest. He slid down in the seat a little, getting comfortable.

"You still hanging out up at the lighthouse?"

Sam nodded. "Usually spend the weekend there. Why?"

"Need somewhere to kill some time until we go check out the fire hall tonight."

"We?" It was Sam's turn to smile.

"You got somethin' else you gotta be doin'?"

The truth was there wasn't really anything Sam would _rather_ do than spend some more time with Dean. He wasn't convinced about the firehouse part but he could live with it. "No."

"Good."

They drove to the lighthouse in an oddly comfortable silence. Dean parked his car out of view behind some bushes and took a look around like he was expecting to be followed. Sam was starting to feel a little like he was in a James Bond movie.

They trudged up the path to the lighthouse with Sam leading the way. Dean asked some questions. How old was the lighthouse? What was the building constructed out of? Was it noisy in a storm? How did the lamp come on? Sam was always happy to talk about the lighthouse. It was like _home_ to him. It was a place for Sam to be himself, be quiet, be restful.

Their boots clunked on the stairs as they climbed. Out of habit, Sam paused at each porthole on the way up to check the weather. It looked like another fog bank was rolling in. Just the kind of weather that needed a lighthouse.

"Lantern will be on tonight."

"Yeah?" Dean was panting slightly. He'd been matching Sam's pace and Sam had been moving quickly. Maybe he was doing it deliberately.

When Sam reached the watchroom level he slipped off the stairs to the small landing. Around the wall was the room he usually spent his time in. He heard Dean step off the stairs and follow him. "When the lighthouse was built it was manned 24/7. The watch room is where the wickie would keep an eye on the sea."

"Wickie?"

Sam flipped on one of the camping lanterns he'd brought down to the lighthouse. "When the first lighthouses were built they were lit - the maintainer was the guy who would _light the wick_. Hence, Wickie." Smiling, Sam sat down on a chair near the wall of windows.

"You know a lot about lighthouses." Dean took the chair next to Sam's and shrugged out of his leather.

"Was just curious."

Lifting an eyebrow, Dean looked over at Sam from under long, dark lashes.

The look burned into Sam. His heart thudded harder and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. "I - I spend a lot of time by myself. I like to read up on things that I spend time around."

Nodding, Dean finally looked away. He cast his gaze around the room. It was pretty spartan even though Sam had brought up a few personal things. Really, all Sam needed to be comfortable was a comfy chair, some fresh air and a good book.

"How'd you end up out here, Sammy? You seem like a good guy."

Sam shrugged. "I'm a bit of a loner. My job. I do computer stuff so I can do it from anywhere. As long as I have a satellite internet connection, I'm good."

"Don't you miss being around other people?"

"People and I don't usually get along." Sam shifted around in the chair trying to get comfortable. The problem was that it was the questioning that was making him unsettled, not the chair.

"Spill. We got time to kill." Dean was smiling again, hands clasped together in his lap.

"It's boring," Sam said quietly. He believed that. There was nothing unique about being in the foster system as a kid and leaving a trail of unsuccessful homes behind him. Sure, there were some minor criminal offenses, but it was nothing life-changing. There were times when Sam felt _too_ typical.

"You don't seem like a boring guy." Dean's boot slid across the floor to bump against Sam's. "How old are you, anyway?"

The corner of Sam's mouth tugged into a smile. People always worried that he was _far_ younger than he looked. Well, men did. "I'm twenty-two."

"You look younger."

"I know." Sam had heard that a lot. "Listen, Dean. What are you - how are you gonna get into the firehouse? It's all run by volunteers. There's no one there on a shift or anything tonight. They don't go in until they're called out for a fire." And that didn't happen very often.

"I'm _counting_ on there being no one there." Dean stretched out his tall frame and clasped his hands behind his head. "Back window doesn't lock. After dark, we'll go down there and check it out."

A little thrill skittered around in Sam's chest. He was pleased to be included but a little unsure about what was going to happen. Even with his hardly-worth-mentioning criminal past, he'd never broken in to anything.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll keep you safe from the things that go bump in the night." A broad grin took over Dean's face, small wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

It was a _very_ nice smile.

"Got any more of that beer?"

"Little early, isn't it?" But Sam was already moving over to the cooler. He opened it and pulled two beers out before handing one to Dean.

"Cocktail hour somewhere in the world," Dean said.

"'Spose so." Sam got comfy in his chair again but left his beer on the counter. He had a feeling that too much alcohol would be bad while he was with Dean. He was having enough trouble not saying something really stupid while he was sober.

"So. Sammy." Dean kicked his feet up onto the counter that ran the perimeter of the watch room. "Tell me something about yourself."

Groaning, Sam shifted his chair around so he could stare out at the waves as they broke on the jagged rocks far below. "This isn't a slumber party."

Dean laughed. It was a genuine sound, heart-felt and it pleased Sam to be the cause of it.

"You're a funny guy." Dean leaned forward and picked up his beer again.

And the laughter continued. At first the two men settled on playing poker. Sam won two hands, then Dean won the next five. Sam became convinced he was being played but couldn't prove anything and all his protestations just made Dean laugh harder.

They ventured out for a walk down to the craggy rocks that separated the land from the ocean. The ocean was rough. Whitecaps crashed against the point. Sam watched Dean watch the ocean. The man was staring out to sea, his face was rosy because of the wind. Even though he had his leather jacket pulled tight around him, he looked happy to be there.

By the time they got back up to the watchroom they were cold and hungry. Fortunately, Sam had a camping stove so he made them some pasta with some reheated meat sauce. 

Dean told Sam about some of the terrible meals he'd had on the road. Sam silently noted that Dean managed to avoid answering questions about _ghost hunting_ when Sam tried to bring it up.

Sam didn't mind because he wasn't really answering questions about himself either. They seemed happy to stay half-knowing; it was safe there, the in-between.

By the time evening rolled around, Sam was feeling pretty comfortable. Comfortable enough to bring up the trip to the firehouse. They'd settled by the windows again, both of them staring out at the steadily darkening sky. 

"So. Once we break into the-"

"The window's not locked," Dean said quickly.

"Okay." Sam couldn't help smiling. "We go in through the unlocked window and do _what_ exactly?"

Dean folded his arms across his chest. "We look around. Check for any signs of haunting. Erma told me some stories when I first got here. Seems like everyone who has worked at that place has had some kind of run in with this thing."

"A run-in?" Sam didn't like the sound of that very much.

"Started out as little things. At first, it just moved shit around. Sometimes, all the showers would run cold at once. Later on, the smoke detectors would go off in the middle of the night. The guys would trip over things left on the stairs while they were trying to shut them off."

"It escalated." Sam shivered unconsciously.

Dean's fingers worried a loosening seam on his jeans. "Yup. Nothing really bad until some renovations were done a few months back."

Sam remembered. After all, everything was news in town. "They dug a basement on the back part of the lot and added an extension. A big meeting room and some dorms. Is this ghost-thing why they're still not using them?"

Nodding, Dean looked over at Sam. "As soon as they broke the ground, it sounds as though things took a nasty turn. Couple of guys were shoved down the back stairs. Hood of the engine came down on some poor sonofabitch. Damn near killed him."

That didn't sound like the kind of thing that Sam wanted to be involved in. "Why the change? Did something get disturbed during the renos?"

Dean looked a little impressed and nodded. "Maybe dug something up. Maybe this _thing_ just didn't like its home being moved around.”

"What can you do about it?"

"Maybe nothing? Maybe I can figure out how to get rid of it or, at least, tone things down. Won't be good to have a firehouse where no one wants to work."

"True." Sam was a little worried about how things were going to play out. "What do you need _me_ for?"

"It's always nice to have backup," Dean answered. There was a wistfulness to the smile on Dean's face and Sam found himself wondering about the past.

"You usually work alone?"

Dean let out a very long sigh and dropped his hands to his lap. "Used to work with my Dad. He taught me everything I know about hunting."

"What's he doin' now?"

As Sam watched, he could _see_ Dean's body stiffen. It was like watching a wall go up and Sam regretted his question.

"He's dead."

"Jesus. I'm. I'm sorry." That kind of ruined the mood and made Sam feel pretty shitty. This was the point at which his lack of social skills would be a _real_ problem. He could get into a mess all right, but he could seldom get out of it on his own.

"One of those things." But Dean looked like he was still wearing all the hurt of losing his father. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like. He'd never had anyone he cared that much about. It kind of made him think that, possibly, he'd gotten the better deal. There were clearly some advantages to having few or no attachments.

"When did he die?"

"Sam. Don't." The wall had crashed down completely. For some reason, it hurt Sam to be shut out. Even though he knew he was being cut off from something he'd never even had. It wasn't like he _knew_ Dean. They owed each other little in the way of honesty and openness. Suddenly feeling restless, a little claustrophobic and a _lot_ stupid, Sam stood and headed over to the stairs.

"I need some air. I'll be back in a while." It was a struggle for Sam not to run up and outside onto the walkway around the lamp room. He needed it. Talking to people had never been a talent of his and he'd let himself be lulled into believing that he was making a _connection_ with Dean. It was naive. 

"Sam?" Oh, he heard Dean call his name but he kept going. It wasn't like he knew what to say to make anything better. He shouldn't have asked about Dean's father but he shouldn't be hurt by the man's rebuff. 

The evening air was cold and damp but it felt good on Sams face. He closed the door behind him and headed along the narrow walkway. The iron groaned slightly but Sam knew it was solid. He gave the place a good once-over every few months.

The lamp had flashed to life in the late afternoon. It cut through the fog that was hunkered down just off shore. 

"Fuck, it's cold out here."

Dean's voice startled Sam. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring wind and the crashing waves far below. He didn't have to turn around to know that Dean had to be right behind him. He nodded.

A cool splash of water vapor prickled against Sam's skin and he shivered and shrank back from the railing. The solid warmth of Dean's body pressed against Sam's back and he closed his eyes.

Hot breath chased the cold away from Sam's neck for a few moments. It spread down his chest and Sam could feel himself begin to tremble.

"You alright, Sam?"

No. Sam wasn't alright. He was anything _but_ alright. He'd known Dean for twenty-four hours and already the guy could turn him inside out with a few words. Sam needed to look after himself so he nodded.

"Liar." It was almost a whisper but Dean's lips were close enough that Sam could _feel_ the word as it formed. Cool fingers slid over the skin just above Sam's jeans and he started again. The cold of Dean's fingertips radiated across the small of Sam's back. 

"Come back inside," Dean said. His lips brushed the shell of Sam's ear. The slightest touch, not more than a moment but the weight of it pressed Sam down and he felt frozen to the spot.

"Come on. You'll freeze out here."

The fingers slid forward and soon, a hand was curved over Sam's hip and was urging him back towards the door.

Sam's feet felt heavy; his legs were already cold and stiff but he managed to put one foot in front of the other until they were back inside.

It was quieter back in the lamp room once they were protected from the wind-propelled cold mist. Oddly enough, that's when Sam started to shiver in earnest. It overtook him quickly and he leaned back against the wall. 

"Idiot," Dean muttered. He began rubbing Sam's arms roughly.

"M'fine," Sam said through chattering teeth. "Just tired."

Dean scoffed and slid his hands down Sam's arms until he captured Sam's hands between his own. He rubbed slowly; his rough palms were almost painful on Sam's cold skin. Sam wanted to move away but he just couldn't. It was beyond him, whether that was because he didn't know what to do or he _wanted_ the touch like some kind of pathetic - "Don't!"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

Wrenching his hands back, Sam hissed when his shoulder connected _hard_ with the wall. Pain shot along his shoulder blade.

Dean fisted Sam's jacket and pulled him off the wall only to shove him in the direction of the stairs. He stumbled and Dean held him up and shoved him out onto the spiral staircase. The cast iron shook and groaned and Sam let himself be propelled forwards and down. He managed the first few steps then slipped and slid down the last five or six without completely losing his feet. Dean's grip on Sam's jacket remained firm.

They tumbled through the door to the watchroom and the heat was almost overwhelming. Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead instantly and he swiped at it angrily.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the chair. 

"N-Nothing." He just wasn't used to spending so much time with someone. He had read too much into what Dean had been saying; he'd seen emotion that wasn't there. There was no connection.

Instead of pulling back, Dean stepped in closer. He reached up and slid his hand around to curl over the back of Sam's neck. His green eyes were studying Sam's face again like he was concentrating on working out a puzzle.

The way Dean's fingers pressed against his skin made Sam shudder with pleasure. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and couldn't prevent the way he leaned forward into the touch. 

The expression on Dean's face softened, his eyes moving slowly from Sam's lips back to his eyes.

Possibilities thundered through Sam's mind. His heart, a fist in his chest, pounded against his ribcage painfully. There was no room between them and Sam felt trapped and protected at the same time.

Each one of Dean's exhales caressed Sam's lips, his chin, the warm heat of it burning into his body and his mind.

Dean smelled of leather, the spicy undertone of sweat, beer, some kind of oil or grease. It would stay with Sam, that scent; he knew that.

Closer than ever, Dean swayed forward until his cheek was pressed to Sam's. "I like you, Sammy."

 _God_. The words were like nails dragging down Sam's back and his body arched slightly as an intense wave of pleasure shuddered through him.

Dean swayed back again and Sam fought the urge to follow the heat. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and lowered his gaze. The way he felt _had_ to be written all over his face.

"I'm not readin' you wrong, am I?" Dean asked. His voice was deeper and Sam had to strain to hear the man.

"Wrong?" Just getting the word out made Sam's throat tighten up.

"You. Me?" Dean's tongue swept along his bottom lip and Sam was mesmerized. The wine-red skin glistened as the lighthouse beam swept past them.

"I-" Sam's mouth was dry and he swallowed nervously. 

"Dude. It's okay." Dean smiled, his hand moving down to Sam's shoulder.

Everything in Sam's head was yelling _no!_. Dean was pulling back, the moment was passing and Sam hated that.

His hand darted out and he snatched a handful of Dean's t-shirt, dragging him forward. Before he had time to talk himself out of it; Sam pressed his lips to Dean's. He opened his mouth slowly, ran his lips along the gentle curve of Dean's. The warmth of Dean's flesh echoed the heat firing through Sam's body.

Dean slipped into Sam's space like a fog. Quite suddenly their mouths were crushed together and Sam's vision blurred until he had to close his eyes.

The kiss burned an ache into Sam's chest. Their mouths moved together slowly. After the initial crushing, wet, hot, contact Dean pulled back enough to make the next glide of their lips almost tender.

Sam could barely breathe. There wasn't enough space left in his chest for air. Every spare inch of him was filled up with heat, want, _more_. His skin buzzed like it was on fire and he trembled uncontrollably.

Dean's tongue eased forward and Sam moaned. He was startled by the sound of his own desire. He didn't even know Dean. Dean would probably vanish as abruptly as he'd appeared but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. It felt _real_ and intense and it had been far too long since Sam had felt anything even remotely close.

A hand tangled in Sam's hair and the painful tug was exciting and a little frightening.

As Dean's tongue slid forward again, thick, wet and hot, Sam's will melted away.

Still clutching almost desperately at Dean's shirt, Sam lifted his other hand to curve around Dean's biceps. The muscle flexed and bulged against Sam's palm and he shifted his hips restlessly.

The kiss deepened and when Sam opened his mouth to suck in some air, Dean took full advantage. His tongue was back, sliding deep into Sam's mouth, possessing it, claiming him somehow.

The _pull_ was insane. Sam hands moved to Dean's chest. Fingers splayed, Sam traced the curve of muscles under the worn cotton of Dean's t-shirt. He knew his hands were shaking with the intensity of it all.

Dean’s hand ran along Sam's shoulder, the length of his collarbone then tightened on Sam's throat until he had no choice but to pull away from the kiss.

When Dean's face came into focus, Sam could see _desire_ in the dark eyes that were locked to his.

He could feel Dean's thumb moving slowly up and down the smooth skin of his neck. The gentle slide was _so_ punishing. Sam wanted more. He wanted Dean's hands on his bare flesh everywhere on his body. That mouth needed to be travelling along the sharper lines of Sam's body. If only he could get the right words out.

A soft growl rumbled in Dean's chest and he shoved Sam back against the wall. "Sam…"

 _Jesus_. Just the way Dean said his name was enough to make Sam's balls ache and throb. But Dean let go of him abruptly. He stepped back half a step and for a second or two Sam felt like the world was tipping sideways.

He stretched shaking fingers towards Dean then let his arm fall back to his side. He was a mess; sweat had dampened the t-shirt that now clung to his back. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton and he had trouble focusing his eyes. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair before letting his head thrump back against the wall. 

"It's getting late," Dean said huskily.

Sam's eyes widened momentarily, then he closed them and sighed. He should have known that something that felt _that_ good would stop. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam nodded then pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"Sam, it's not that-"

"It's okay," Sam almost whispered. He didn't want to hear empty excuses while he could still taste Dean. Hell, he could still feel the smooth heat of the man's lips while his eyes were closed. When he forced his eyes open he could see frustration on Dean's face. So Sam just shook his head slowly. "It's fine, Dean."

Dean shifted his weight and tugged at his t-shirt to straighten it. He opened his mouth to say something then seemed to think better of it and dragged his thumb along his bottom lip.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the watchroom and Sam took a few deep breaths to try and steady himself.

There was a half smile on Dean's face that didn't reach his eyes. He shrugged a shoulder and ran his hand back and forth over his spiky hair. "I have shitty timing."

Sam forced a smile and pushed off the wall. His legs felt weak, his muscles too loose and he took a few slow steps over to the window. There was a half-empty beer still sitting on the counter and Sam grabbed it and drained it quickly.

"Easy there, Tiger," Dean teased.

Beer was the least of Sam's worries. But he set the empty bottle down and listened to the window outside.

"We should go soon," Dean said.

Sam nodded. Better to be chasing ghosts than locked up in the lighthouse with Dean. Or worse, alone.

"I’m just gonna-" Dean waved towards the bathroom then disappeared through the door.

Sam sank down onto one of the chairs and let his head fall forward onto his arms. "Fuck," He whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was still trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong by the time they made it out to Dean's car.

In Sam's mind, the events of the evening were a mess, puzzle pieces to be sorted through. The whole evening with Dean had been too much, not enough, confusing, misleading and the last place Sam should be was climbing into Dean's car. Yet, that was exactly where he was.

The car doors slammed shut one after the other and the engine growled to life. It was almost a relief to be in the Impala. At least they were moving. They were headed towards the firehouse; it was a distraction if nothing else.

Since the … _kissing_ , the intensity, bodies pressed too close together … since then, Dean had been subdued. He'd explained a few things to Sam. Rock salt would protect them. If things got out of hand Sam was to pour a salt circle and get inside it. There was a shotgun in Dean's trunk with shells filled with salt. It had seemed that Sam's main task would be to keep his eyes open and watch Dean's back. 

They drove in silence and Sam was relieved. Talking about hunting a ghost was alright but he couldn't take much more small talk.

Sam wasn't sure why Dean still wanted him along. Possibly, he was just too nice to ditch Sam. Maybe he had visions of Sam hurling himself off the uppermost level of the lighthouse.

For once, Sam just felt like he wanted to go back to the small house he was renting. The problem was he couldn't face being the one who bailed. Then Dean would know how knotted up Sam's emotions were, how confused he was.

So, he sat there as the car crunched down the dirt road into town.

"You might like it."

Sam jumped.

"A little on edge, there, Sammy?"

The nickname grated on Sam's nerves but he didn't say anything. At least Dean's tone was a little bit lighter.

Sam scratched his cheek and smiled at Dean. "What might I like?"

"Chasin' down a ghost. A little healthy trespassing, damn good story to tell over a few beers."

Nodding, Sam didn't bother pointing out the there was no one around for him to drink with. He wasn't sure he believed what they were about to do anyway; he was unlikely to tell anyone about it.

The tall silhouette of the firehouse appeared as Dean steered around the last corner into town. Even though Sam had seen it a million times it looked a little more imposing in the moonlight. A ghost hunt? What the _hell_ did he think he was doing?

Dean flipped the headlights off and let the Impala creep past the front door of the building. He circled around back and pulled up close to the door before turning the ignition.

The car ticked and pinged as the metal cooled. Sam felt a little nervous and wiped damp palms on his jeans.

"Let's do this." Dean seemed a little _too_ happy.

Sam followed, reluctant to leave the security of the car. He didn't even know why he was nervous. He was pretty sure there was no such thing as ghosts. As convincing as Dean was, Sam still envisioned the whole evening ending up like an episode of the Ghost Hunters. Maybe they'd make each other jump a couple of times but that would be about it.

He pushed the car door closed as quietly as he could. He should just suck it up and be thankful he was doing something distracting.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean said softly from the shadows near the back door.

The _conveniently_ unlocked window was just off the back steps. Sam followed Dean up the steps and watched as the older man climbed up onto the railing then jumped across to grab the window. He pulled himself up and folded his legs through the window before disappearing. Sam heard the dull thump of Dean's boots hitting the floor inside then everything was silent again.

Sam looked around to check and make sure no one was around. The door rattled behind him, a lock clicked open and Dean's face appeared around the partially open door.

"Come on in, Sam."

After a few deep breaths and a final look around, Sam headed inside. It was a little stuffy inside; it had probably been a few days since anyone had been there. It wasn't like there were a lot of fires for the Volunteer Fire Department to deal with.

Dean's boots creaked as he moved slowly through the hallway. "Stick close, Sammy. And remember, if something goes wrong-"

"Salt circle. Get in it," Sam finished.

Dean clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder and chuckled softly. "Make a hunter outta you yet."

He sounded pleased with himself again and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Don't be scared, Sammy."

Without a second thought, Sam punched Dean in the shoulder. He wasn't the slightest bit scared of ghosts. What made him nervous was the idea that they might get caught and would find themselves trying to explain to the Sheriff about ghosts and hauntings.

After flashing a grin in Sam's direction, Dean headed off into the dark room. Sam followed.

"What are we lookin' for?" Sam whispered.

"I have a feeling it will be obvious." Dean's pace slowed and he seemed to be listening intently.

Sam stopped and looked around even though he was only _just_ able to make out the shapes of the furnishing in the room. It looked like they were in an activity room or a joint workspace. There were a couple of desks along the north wall, something the approximate shape and size of a filing cabinet.

Dean was moving again. His footsteps were light; he was obviously experienced at trying to move quietly.

"Sam? You good?"

"Uh-huh." As long as he didn't get arrested, Sam figured he would be okay.

Lost in his own thoughts, Sam trailed along behind Dean as he moved through the firehouse. There was a living room - probably a room for the firefighters if they happened to be hanging around. 

The kitchen was off to the side of the old building. It was spotless which kind of surprised Sam. But then, he really didn't know all that much about firefighters.

Sam was jolted from his thoughts by the press of Dean's fingers to his hip. Instantly, adrenaline flooded his body and his eyes strained to see _more_ in the darkness.

Dean turned silently and pressed his free hand to Sam's chest, his eyebrows lifted. _Stay here._

Nodding, Sam clutched the container of salt in his hand tighter. He might not believe one hundred per cent in what Dean told him but there was no harm in being prepared.

All Sam could hear was his own shallow breathing so he had no idea what had alerted Dean. 

Dean moved over towards the door to the lower level and paused at the top of the stairs.

Something crashed downstairs. Sam's body jolted and he took a step backward before remembering he was supposed to be watching Dean's back.

He watched as Dean slipped a hand under his jacket and pulled out a small flashlight. When he flipped it on, the light was a small circle on the wall. It moved as Dean swung the flashlight and Sam realized he wasn't breathing.

He gasped and was about to step forward when something slammed _hard_ into his right shoulder blade. Sam let out a small cry as he dropped to one knee. Pain radiated out from his shoulder and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

"Sam?" Dean was at his side quickly. He was crouched down, arm slung protectively over Sam's shoulders. "What happened?"

"Shoulder," Sam wheezed. Even as the pain began to dull slightly, Sam's chest stayed tight.

He felt Dean's hand slide lightly across his upper back and sucked in a sharp breath when the pain was triggered again.

He felt Dean move, heard his hand brushing the floor. Something that sounded heavy scraped against the hardwood floor behind him.

"Jesus," Dean whispered.

"What?" Something inside Sam's mind clicked a little closer to _anxious_.

"Piece of fuckin' concrete."

"Knocked the wind outta me," Sam said softly. It was getting a little easier to breathe and he pressed his hand to his shoulder.

"Scraped you up a bit. Y'okay?" Dean slid his fingers along Sam's forehead to brush his hair back.

It was a kindness Sam didn't expect. He nodded and experimented with a deeper breath. It was a little easier and Sam nodded more firmly.

Dean stood and slipped a hand under Sam's elbow to help him up. They were nearly upright when there was a thud just behind Dean.

"De-" The full weight of Dean's body collided with Sm's side and they crashed to the floor in a heap.

They scrambled in two different directions and Sam glanced over his shoulder, frantically searching for Dean. 

Another piece of concrete slammed into the floor right beside Sam's boot. He crawled away from it, heart pounding so hard his head ached.

"Sammy!" Dean wasn't whispering anymore, and for some reason that scared Sam more than anything else.

"Desk, Sam!" Dean grunted then rolled to the side, escaping with only a glancing blow from another piece of concrete.

 _Desk_. Casting his gaze around the room, Sam spotted the closed desk and scrambled across the floor. He fumbled with the chair, yanked it out of the way and stuffed his too-tall frame under the desk.

There were a couple more thumps in the room and Dean managed to get to his feet. He darted across the room and kicked the container of salt across the floor towards Sam.  
Sam hadn't even realized he'd dropped it. Sweat trickled down his temple and Sam swatted at it before darting out to snatch the container off the floor.

Fumbling with the cap, Sam yanked it off and shook out a line in front of the desk. It was no circle but there was no way in hell he was going to offer himself up as a target in order to make one.

Shaking, Sam peered out into the eerily silent room and realized that Dean had disappeared. Off in the distance, he could hear something moving, sliding. There was another thump and Sam heard Dean's voice; _he was hurt_.

"Fuck." Sam grabbed hold of his hair and groaned before launching himself out into the center of the room. "Dean?"

Something flew past Sam's cheek and he didn't stick around to confirm it was another projectile. He ran across the room and skidded through the door he thought Dean had disappeared through.

There was some more crashing at the bottom of the stairs and Sam headed down as quickly as he could find his footing in the darkness.

Another thump sounded a lot closer than Sam expected. He stepped down only to find out he was already at the bottom of the stairs. He stumbled forward and tripped, falling to his knees. He cried out in pain. The floor seemed to be covered in broken pieces of concrete.

The beam of light from Dean's flashlight travelled along the wall as it rolled along the floor. The shape of Dean's body appeared momentarily in the moving beam.

Pushing up into a half crouch, Sam skirted around the larger pieces of concrete and headed over towards Dean. 

His fingers found Dean's jacket first and Sam shifted closer on his knees until he managed to haul Dean half across his lap. He pressed his hand to the man's chest and was relieved to feel it rising and falling steadily. "Dean," he whispered.

 _Nothing_. Sam dragged Dean closer and cupped his cheek. He kept his voice low. "Dean, c'mon, what the hell's going on?"

Dean stirred and Sam felt relief flood his body. Another piece of concrete clattered to the floor beside Dean's feet and Sam lurched into motion.

He yanked on Dean's jacket and crawled back towards the wall. As soon as his back hit the wall he slid his arms around Dean's chest and pulled him close. His nose was buried in Dean's hair and he pressed his eyes closed for a few moments. "Dean."

Dean stirred again, his hand latched on to Sam's thigh, fingers digging in.

"Dean?"

"Wh'happened?"

Sam shifted behind Dean so he could slide his hands down Dean's arms. Nothing appeared to be broken. But Dean had obviously whacked his head. 

"The wall", Dean mumbled. "Fucker is tearing the wall down."

Another piece of concrete the size of a basketball crashed into the wall off to their left and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean protectively.

Dean was trying to get to his feet and Sam helped as much as he could. 

"Gotta salt it, burn it. Gotta be bones in there."

 _Burn_ , was the word that rattled Sam. He wasn't sure that settling fire to anything in the island's only firehouse was a good idea. But Dean was already in motion.

Just as another barrage of concrete pelted the floor, Sam lurched to his feet to follow Dean.

The circle of light whipped up to the ceiling when Dean grabbed the flashlight off the floor. Then it steadied and slid down to settle on the gaping hole in the basement wall.

The light momentarily blinded Sam as Dean swung around the face him. "Where's the salt, Sam?"

For the first time that day there was an underlying tension in Dean's voice.

 _Shit_. The salt was upstairs under the desk, or, somewhere close to it.

There was a brief pause in the projectiles and Dean started searching through his pockets. "I need it, Sam. I'd put money on there being a skeleton on the other side of this wall."

"What?" The night was getting weirder and weirder. "A body?"

"I don't have time to explain." Something whooshed over Sam's head and he ducked just in time to avoid a concussion.

"Sam!"

The urgent tone snapped Sam out of his frozen state. "Upstairs, I'll get it."

Dean nodded. "Fast. Go now, Sam." He shoved Sam towards the stairs and ducked as another hunk of concrete slammed into the wall.

Sam swung around and ran, full tilt, to the stairs. He tripped on the bottom step but managed to recover his balance before he fell. He raced up the rest of the stairs and careened around the corner into the room where the attack had started.

Heart pounding, Sam choked a little. Dust was hanging in the stuffy air; Sam could feel it, gritty in his mouth. The desk had been straight across the room so Sam headed out into the center of the room.

Sounds of concrete crashing filtered up from the lower level and Sam heard Dean call out to him.

As soon as he sensed he was near the desk Sam dropped to his knees and felt around. The container clunked and Sam grabbed it. He spun on his knees and stumbled up into a run. His shoulder connected with the doorframe and Sam yelped in pain before almost falling down the stairs.

Another coughing fit caught Sam off-guard as he ran towards the light of Dean's flashlight. The hole in the wall was illuminated from within and Sam could see that Dean had climbed through the hole.

The man was tossing debris aside, rocks, concrete, old wood. Sam peered into the hole and blinked a few times in the light

Dean grunted as he hefted up a large piece of beam. "Was worried 'bout ya, Sammy."

Something near Dean's feet caught Sam's eye as Dean picked up the flashlight. _Bones_. "Jesus _Christ_ , Dean."

Dean looked up then nodded solemnly. "Don't know who the hell this guy is but I'm willing to bet he's the one causing this mess."

"He's dead," Sam said in disbelief. The body was long dead because all Sam could see were ribs and arm bones, all kept together by some scraps of material that may have been clothes at one time.

After a quick look around, Dean reach out and took the salt from Sam's hand. He flipped the top off and shook the white grains over the bones.

Surreal would be the word Sam would choose to describe what was going on around him. Flying concrete, bones, a _ghost_. Maybe Sam really was going insane because of the many hours he spent alone. It was possible. Dean could be a character his mind had brought to life to entertain him.

"Sam!" Dean sounded frustrated. He tossed the empty salt container aside and began searching through his pockets again.

"What's happening?" Disbelief thinned out Sam's voice and he wasn't even sure if Dean had heard him.

"Salt and burn, Sam. Remember?" Dean pulled a small bottle out of one of his inside jacket pockets. He flipped the bottle open and squirted a clear liquid over the bones and scraps of cotton.

The smell of the liquid was familiar: flammable, maybe lighter fluid. It wasn't until that moment that Sam realized Dean really _was_ going to light someone's decayed body on fire. He watched as Dean pulled out a Zippo and flicked it unsuccessfully a few times.

"Dean! It's a firehouse. The building is over a hundred years old." Anxiety was making Sam's heart flutter in his chest. They couldn't just set fire to something and take off like nothing had happened.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to speak, a board from the wall flipped up into the air and scraped down the side of Sam's face.

Pain blurred Sam's vision and he stumbled back from the wall. 

"See! _So_ not the time for a debate," Dean yelled.

The metallic grind of flint against metal sounded again and this time Sam saw the flickering light of a tiny flame.

The entire side of Sam's face was throbbing and he pressed his hand to his cheek as he walked backwards. 

He heard the lights thunk against something then the whoosh of the starving fire as it sucked up the oxygen in the room.

Dean scrambled through the hole in the wall and snatched hold of Sam's sleeve as he passed him. "Run!!"

Part of Sam's brain was still working because whatever awareness he had left became focused on _survival_ and he moved as quickly as he could.

Dean alternated between dragging Sam and almost carrying him up the stairs from the lower level. The fire was already crackling and popping behind them. The yellow light of the flames was already reflecting on the top few steps when the two men careened through the door.

Sam almost lost his footing as they rounded the corner. The floor was covered in dust and bits of concrete. It looked as though the building had been on the receiving end of a mortar attack.

They got tangled together briefly by the back door as they both tried to yank the door open. Dean let out a string of swear words and swung Sam around behind him. He yanked the door open and pushed Sam through it.

The night air was like a fresh assault on Sam's lungs. Another coughing fit wracked his body and he was almost doubled over by the time Dean caught up to him.

Dean's hands pushed at Sam's back. "Move it, Sammy! Get in the damn car."

Sam's head was spinning, his cheek aching. He was trying to suck in oxygen between the coughing but it wasn't working all that well.

Another shove from Dean sent Sam crashing into the side of the car. He rolled along the fender and fumbled with the door handle before he managed to get it open.

He was still trying to fold his body into the car when the engine roared to life and the tires were squealing on the asphalt parking lot.

Momentum from the donut Dean spun into slammed the door shut _for_ Sam and he all but collapsed on the seat.

There was something warm and sticky travelling along Sam's jaw. When he pressed his fingers to his cheek they came away covered in blood. He couldn't help but look over at Dean for help.

"Is this the Sheriff?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyes managed to focus finally, and he realized that Dean was on the phone.

"I wanna report a fire at the old firehouse." Dean paused and wrenched on the steering wheel to head them onto the lighthouse road. "Heading by on my trawler. Saw smoke. My name? It's-" Dean turned the phone off and tossed it into the back seat.

Grinning, Dean drummed his hands on the steering wheel as he slowed the car and turned her onto the dirt road. As soon as the lighthouse was in sight, Dean reached down to turn the headlights off. The car slowed to a crawl.

Dean chuckled and thumped his palm on the steering wheel one last time. " _That_ was awesome, Sammy. You and I make a pretty good team. Little bit rough on the exit but we did great."

Sam glanced over at Dean and forced a smile. 

Dean did a double take and reached out to slide his fingers into Sam's hair. " _Jesus_ , Sam. Your face."

"I'm fine," Sam lied. He let his lashes close and leaned his head back. The warmth of Dean's hand felt good.

"We'll get ya fixed up," Dean said quietly. He dropped his hand to Sam's shoulder and squeezed before focusing on getting them up to the lighthouse without driving off the narrow road.

It didn't take long to park the car behind the bushes again. Dean made sure it was all locked up and then strode up beside Sam.

"Gotta get you cleaned up." 

Sam nodded. He was very thankful that there was a shower in the watchroom. And he really felt like he wanted to just curl up on his bed and sleep for a week.

"You did good back there, Sammy. Need to work on gettin' out of the way faster but it was good."

They trudged up the steps and Sam thought maybe Dean was just talking because he didn't like the silence. The pain in his cheek made it hard for him to focus; hell, he'd never been knocked around so much in one night before.

"You're a bit of a mess, dude."

Sam forced his feet to keep moving; one step, then another. There was a buzzing in his ears and he felt like he'd been run over by a truck. "Not my idea of fun," he murmured.

Laughing, Dean pressed a hand to the small of Sam's back as though he was worried that Sam would stop mid-way and just give up. "Least it won't be hurtin' anyone else."

"Good thing," Sam muttered. Just thinking about it made his face ache again. He was panting as they approached the watchroom and fought the urge to cough.

At the last minute, Dean pushed past him to yank the door open. He looped his arm around Sam's waist and guided him into the room.

Relief made Sam let out a low groan and he sank down onto the closest chair.

"Whoa, there. We gotta get you cleaned up."

The idea of moving again made Sam's stomach lurch. When he tried to draw in a breath, the ended up coughing until his eyes were watering.

A glass was pressed into his hand and Sam was thankful. He swallowed some of the cold water; it soothed his throat and settled his lungs for the moment.

Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Sam tried to blink away the dirt, dust and fuzziness. When he dropped his hand down, Dean was kneeling in front of him with a damp cloth from the bathroom.

"Gotta clean up your face, it's cut up pretty bad."

Nodding, Sam took another drink and then set the glass down on the table beside him. When he lifted his hand to touch his cheek, Dean batted it away gently. Sam let his hands settle in his lap.

The cloth pressed to Sam's cheek and he winced. Dean was gentle; his gaze intent as he wiped and dabbed at Sam's Face. "Looks like road rash."

Sam could only imagine. He was pretty sure he didn't want to look in the mirror.

"How long have you been doing this?" Sam asked.

"Since I was a kid. Dad taught me everything I know. Gave me my first gun when I was ten."

"Wow." Sam couldn't imagine being able to handle a gun at ten - he'd barely been able to ride a bike.

"Your dad. Why did _he_ do it?" Sam winced again when the cloth moved over a particularly tender spot.

Dean took a deep breath and then reached up to brush Sam's hair back off his forehead. The touch was so gentle, Sam had trouble believing it was the same hand that could fire a gun with deadly accuracy.

"It's kind of a long story, Sam. I mean, he had his reasons. He kept me safe for a lot of years. Then when I was old enough, he taught me how to protect myself."

Sam's head felt heavy; the exertion of the evenings was starting to catch up with him.

When Dean pushed Sam's jacket off, Sam shrugged out of it and leaned forward so Dean could toss it aside. "What about you, Sam? Your folks?"

"Didn't know 'em," Sam muttered sleepily. He stifled a yawn then had to lift his arms because Dean was pulling his t-shirt off over his head.

The air felt cold on Sam's chest and he shivered slightly. Dean got up and pulled another chair over so he could lean Sam forward.

Sam was too tired to care that he was pressed up against Dean's chest. It wasn't like it hadn't felt good the first time. "Foster homes," Sam mumbled against Dean's ear. He managed to get his arm up and draped it over Dean's opposite shoulder. The cloth was moving over Sam's shoulder blade and he could feel a dull ache there too.

"Gonna have a hell of a bruise there tomorrow, Sam." Dean ran the cool cloth over Sam's upper back, then it traced over Sam's spine down to the waistband of his jeans.

"Feels good," Sam murmured. It had been a _very_ long time since anyone had shown even the slightest care for Sam. He wasn't sure he'd ever really experienced it.

"Least I can do," Said Dean softly. He cupped the back of Sam's neck and guided him back into the chair again. "You got hurt on my watch."

There was a grim smile on Dean's face. It had been a rough night for both of them. Sam smiled slightly. "How's your head? You were out cold for a few seconds."

"Seconds?" Dean scoffed and scooted to the edge of his seat so he could draw the cloth along Sam's collarbone. "Was out for a couple days last time."

"Last time?" Sam let out a long sigh. He reached out and set his hand on Dean's thigh. The very tips of his fingers met Dean's and they both froze. He waited for Dean to move his hand but all the man did was clear his throat and begin sliding the cloth again.

"Was hunting a vamp in Colorado. Damn good thing I was workin' with Bobby."

"A what? A vamp as in vampire?"

"Another time, Sam." Dean looked like he regretted having brought it up.

"You can't do that. Are they real?"

The two men stared at each other for a long time. The cloth was now twisted between Dean's hands. He held onto it tightly. There was indecision etched on his furrowed brow.

Sam slid his fingers higher on Dean's thigh. Their fingers wove together and, surprisingly, Dean held on tightly.

"Vampires are real. Not like the stupid-ass ones in books and movies," Dean said quietly.

Before Sam could figure out whether that was a good or a bad thing, Dean was speaking again.

"It's not like you'll ever run into one. An island? Not the best place for a creature who feeds off humans."

"I- I guess." There were two things keeping Sam from losing his mind: the pain that was still creeping through his body and the subtle warmth of Dean's palm against his.

Dean's expression darkened a little and he frowned. "Look. We can talk about this tomorrow, Sam. I promise … just … not tonight."

"Okay," Sam said.

"I mean. There's so much and you look like hell. Even I've felt better. So tomorrow would be-"

"I said okay, Dean." Sam smiled. It was - as much as he hated to admit it - endearing that Dean was worried about him. But then, he realized he might have a concussion - so.

Dean was nodding, a warm smile on his face. "Okay."

Sam fidgeted a little; his shoulder was really starting to throb. "Feel a bit like I've been run over."

"Honestly?" Dean chuckled. "You actually look like you have been."

Sam snorted out a small laugh then groaned when smiling that widely hurt his cheek. "Ow."

"Yeah," Dean said softly. He squeezed Sam's hand and lifted the cloth again to dab it along Sam's cheek. "Pain meds, then sleep. That's what you need."

Sam nodded again. "There's a futon behind the screen. It's a double. If you - I mean - you could stay here." Sam felt like a stupid teenager with a crush.

The question lingered there between them and Sam wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I should probably go back to Erma's. She'd be a little _too_ happy if I stayed here." A little bit of the warmth had disappeared from Dean's smile.

It took seconds for Sam's heart to pick up speed. After the things he'd seen that evening, he wasn't sure he'd even be able to sleep. He was caught off guard by a shiver and gripped Dean's hand so tightly his knuckles went white. He wasn't sure what was more strange: the fact that he might be afraid to be alone or the fact that he was afraid that if Dean walked out the door, Sam would never see him again.

"Stay," Sam said so softly it was barely more than an exhale. 

"What?'

Things could change; people could change. Sam reminded himself that a few hours earlier he would have said he didn't believe in ghosts.

There was still a scratching burn in Sam's throat. "Stay here tonight," he whispered.

"Sam-"

"It doesn't have to mean anything. You don't have to-" Sam swallowed around the knot of emotion firmly lodged in his throat. "I don't want to be here alone."

Wordlessly, Dean studied Sam's face for a few long moments. It was intense and Sam was just about to pull away when Dean nodded.

A little puff of air left Sam's lips and he nodded back. He'd never asked for anything like that before. _Never._

Letting himself relax a little in the chair, Sam closed his eyes. One night was better than nothing.

It was Dean who moved first. He stood slowly, as though his entire body ached. With a low groan, Dean leaned down to slip his arms under Sam's and ease him up out of the chair. "Where's the bed?"

Sam pointed over to the tall wooden screen The first night he'd spent in the lighthouse had been sleepless. Fog had crept into shore early in the evening and there was nowhere in the watchroom he could escape the bright light. The very next day he'd brought some wood from one of his neighbours and built the screen.

They moved across the room slowly. _The walking wounded_ , Sam thought to himself. His arm slipped around Dean's body easily, naturally. Some things, he thought, should work out sometimes.

"What?"

"S'homey, Sammy."

Shrugging a shoulder, Sam looked around. He had real sheets on the bed; there was a small stool on one side with a few candles. Sam had always loved candlelight; it was just so _honest_. Sam's books were stacked beside the bed, and there were some clothes in a plastic bin. He wouldn't call it homey but he hadn't seen the places Dean had been staying.

"It's like you've got your very own treehouse here, Sam." There wasn't anything teasing about Dean's tone and Sam's heart warmed a little.

"Okay, let's get you comfortable." Dean pulled on Sam's arm gently to get him to turn around. "Sit."

The futon was lower to the floor and Sam's legs gave out about halfway down. Dean just chuckled and sat down beside him. He turned to face Sam and pulled one knee up. "You must be tired."

Nodding, Sam rolled his shoulder gingerly. Finally, out of energy, Sam just let himself fall back onto the futon. He groaned as pain flashed along his shoulders and draped his arm over his eyes.

The bed moved under Dean's weight and Sam started when he felt warm fingers brush along his waistband.

"Relax," Dean murmured.

It was probably a good thing Sam had been injured. As it was, his heart did some crazy-ass gymnastics in this chest as Dean unbuttoned then unzipped his jeans.

Rough palms glided over Sam's hips.

"Lift up," Dean ordered.

Arching his body up off the bed, Sam lowered his arm so he could watch Dean.

Dean's tongue swept over his full bottom lip and then he quickly pushed the jeans down over Sam's hips.

It was hard for Sam to resist the urge to fold his arms across his chest. Most of the way through school he'd been teased for being _too_ skinny, _too_ tall, and _too_ quiet. Entirely the wrong kind of triple threat.

Dean stood so he could grab the bottom of Sam's pant legs and pull them off.

The room that had seemed too warm when they'd first arrived now seemed even colder and Sam shivered.

"Don't wait on me," Dean said as he shrugged out of his jacket. "Get under the covers."

The sheets smelled good and Sam tucked an arm under his head. He _tried_ not to watch Dean get undressed.

"How come you like this place so much?" Dean shrugged out of his plaid overshirt.

"Quiet. Old. It's got a lot of history. You can feel it."

"You gettin' a little mystical on me, Sammy?" Dean yanked his undershirt off and tossed it on the growing pile of clothes at his feet.

There were scars all over Dean's body. Some were new, some were faded by time and healing. After what Sam had experienced at the firehouse, he wasn't all that surprised.

"I believe in … things," Sam said.

"Guess you got no choice now, yeah?"

Sam nodded and glanced over at the window when Dean shucked his jeans. He was nervous and remained thankful that he was also exhausted.

There was a storm brewing outside; Sam had learned how to recognize the signs. He didn't mind. Storms extended the night. The darkness would linger in the morning.

"You went all quiet again." The firm futon moved slightly and a cold draft moved under the covers. Then Sam felt the distant heat of Dean's body.

"Was thinking."

"About?"

"There's gonna be a storm."

"I like storms," Dean said.

Sam rolled slightly, onto the uninjured shoulder. "You do?"

"Yeah." Dean glanced at Sam then shifted to mirror Sam's position. there was a gentle smile on his face, thoughtful. "I remember when I was a kid. This crazy storm came up one night. I was maybe six years old. I was a little scared. There was thunder, lightning, the wind was strong enough to blow the branches off trees. Dad busted me looking out the window but he didn't get mad. Not at all. He just picked me up so I could see out the window. He said it was nature showing off how powerful she was."

Sam could almost see the scene in his mind. It was obvious his father had loved him. "That's a great memory to have."

"It is," Dean said. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then blinked a few times. "Dirt in my eyes."

Sam didn't believe it; but he let it pass. He shifted a little, trying to protect his cheek. 

"Shit! Forgot pain pills for ya. I've got some in my bag." Dean grabbed the blanket and made to get up before Sam's hand on his stopped him.

"Sam?"

"Don't need it," Sam said. "It's. I'm okay, I mean. For now."

A frown flicked across Dean's face but was replaced by a puzzled smile quickly. "I won't run away or anything."

Shrugging it off, Sam tried to smile. "I know. Just - I'm okay." 

"Alright." Dean settled back down on his side and twisted his palm up so he could thread his fingers through Sam's. His eyes moved over their hands hands for a while.

"What are you looking at?"

"Your fingers are longer than mine."

"Your hands are wider," Sam countered.

"I can't remember what my Dad's hands looked like. Isn't that crazy?" The expression on Dean's face had changed again. He looked sadder, more regretful.

"What happened to him?"

Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head slowly. "Like I said, Sam. Maybe some other time."

Sam already had a sneaking suspicion that there wouldn't _be_ another time but he would make himself okay with that. He had Dean for the moment.

Rolling onto his back, Sam grunted. "Forgot about my shoulder for a second."

"Won't do that again, will ya?" Dean chuckled. It was deep, rough and Sam liked the sound of it.

Something about that laugh, about Dean's lopsided smile. IT was too much and Sam looked up at the ceiling.

"You don't remember your folks?"

The question was uncomfortable. It cut into Sam's mind, _too_ sharp. "No."

"What's the first thing you _do_ remember?"

There were answer that came to mind but Sam didn't think they'd get a very positive reaction from Dean.

"You must remember something," Dean prompted. He shifted closer and his arm snaked over Sam's waist.

The warm weight across Sam's body was distracting. "I. I remember stairs. Long stairs and there was a small door about halfway up."

The memory hadn't popped up in years. It was like having a memory of a place he'd never actually been. It didn't fit quite right in his mind.

"You're a bit of a mystery, aren't ya, Sammy?" Daen closed any distance that was left between their bodies. The stubbled on Dean's chin scraped across the top of Sam's shoulder. Then Dean's chin settled there as his leg slid over both of Sam's.

Struggling to keep his breathing slow and steady, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He'd wanted Dean closer, wanted to feel him. Now that it was being offered to him he felt a little paralyzed.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What's goin' on in that head of yours. I keep. I think I know what you want….what's okay. Fuck. I suck at this stuff."

In case Dean was thinking about moving, Sam slid his hand along the other man's forearm. Dean's flesh was warm, firm, Sam liked the way it felt to be _held_ by Dean.

"Things were weird for me," Sam almost whispered.

"Weird how?" Dean's hips shifted and Sam could feel soft cotton boxers.

"I didn't really connect with people. I tried. At first, I think I did. Didn't take long before I gave up.

"You connect," Dean said against Sam's neck.

The breath that carried Dean's words was hot and damp. Shivers of sensation skittered along Sam's skin and his fingers tightened on Dean's forearm.

"You're different."

"You're sheltered."

"I don't care."

Dean lips met Sam's skin just below his ear. Dean sucked gently on the tender flesh, his tongue brushing over it just once.

"Dean…" Thoughts slid in and out of Sam's mind so quickly, he hardly got a glimpse of them.

"MMhhmm." The tip of Dean's nose ghosted along Sam's jaw line.

But Sam couldn't remember what he wanted to say. His attention was drawn to the warm fingers that were spreading out over his abs and the trail of breath left on his skin.

Dean rocked his hips forward and Sam could feel the hard line in Dean's tight boxers. Giving in to the intensity of it, Sam reached for Dean's leg and urged it up higher.

It only took a moment for Dean to figure it out and he pressed against Sam's, already half hard, cock.

The wind whipped at the cables that ran down the side of the lighthouse. Sam's eyes moved to the window briefly before Dean's fingers pressed to his chin.

"Ya with me?"

Sam didn't want to lie and he realized that he didn't have to. "I am."

Dean's body was in motion again. He slid over Sam until he was straddling his narrow hips. Both his hands slid up into Sam's hair and he swept it back.

Sam let out a sigh with just the faintest hint of a moan. 

The wound on Sam's cheek was throbbing and he closed his eyes to ward off the pain.

Lips pressed gently to Sam's cheek. The tip of Dean's tongue traced the height of Sam's cheek bone.

A shiver caught Sam off guard and he reached blindly for Dean's hips. His thumbs dug into the cotton covered flesh and Dean's hips twisted slightly.

The first time Dean rolled his hips forward left Sam unable to breathe. Rough hands slid down over Sam's neck, down his chest. Dean's strong fingers grasped Sam's already taut nipples and twisted then slightly.

Sam's spine arched up, long and curved off the bed. The motion made Dean fall forward. He held himself up, hands planted firmly on either side of Sam's head.

For a while, Sam just lay there trembling and stared up into Dean's desire-darkened eyes. His mind was a tangled mess of emotion; his body struggling with pain and pleasure at the same time. The strangest sensations ripped through Sam's body.

"Does it hurt," Dean asked.

Not trusting his voice, Sam just shook his head. It was _partially_ true; it didn't hurt enough for him to be willing to give up being so close to Dean.

Very slowly, Dean lowered his body until was lying on Sam. The touch of _Dean_ was everywhere. His firm chest was hot against Sam's; the jut of his hipbone nudged against Sam's skin. Their legs were side by side and Sam closed his eyes.

He slid his hands along Dean's back, over the curves of his muscular ass then back up again.

"Sam." Dean's voice was honey thick and gravely, and the sound of it sent goosebumps rippling down Sam's skin.

He let out a small whimper; his eyes snapping open at the desperate sound. But there was no judgement on Dean's face, just _want_.

It was Sam who arched up to capture Dean's lips. He sucked on the fullness of them before pressing his tongue forward.

Dean let out a rumbling moan before grinding his hips against Sam's.

Sparks of desire skipped along Sam's spine and his hands moved ceaselessly over Dean's bare flesh. He was like a furnace and the heat was making Sam feel dizzy.

His leaking cock strained against his boxers; he knew Dean could feel it. Sam dug his heels into the hard mattress to push up against Dean's body.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Dean whispered against Sam's lips. Sam's heart leapt at all the possibilities and he smiled shyly. There weren't enough words for him to express how much he wanted Dean.

The cuts on Sam's cheeks stung when Dean's lips ghosted over them. "Pretty beat up, Sammy."

"God," Sam murmured. He rolled his head to the side quickly to slide their lips together. Dean's were perfect; soft, full, wet and not and Sam could feel himself going a little crazy.

He clawed at Dean's back with his nails and was rewarded with another low moan.

Sam was startled when Dean's hand was suddenly gripping his jaw. Their eyes locked and for a terrifying few heartbeats, Sam though Dean was going to stop.

"My way then," Dean said firmly. "You gonna do what I tell you?" There was suddenly, and ever darker glint in Dean's eyes.

Sam nodded mutely; breathing all but forgotten.

Dean's nose twitched, then the corner of his lips was tugged up into a smug smile. "Quiet when you're turned on."

As he spoke, Dean maneuvered his hip so that his rock-hard length slid along Sam's.

Throwing his head back into the pillow, Sam just let his body go and arched up off the bed again. He didn't care about talking when all he could do was focus on Dean, and trying to breathe.

Dean chuckled darkly and Sam bit down on Dean's bicep before licking away any pain he may have inflicted.

Abruptly, Dean slid off Sam's body and as soon as he was on the mattress he was shoving at Sam's boxers.

Getting the hint quickly, Sam rolled slightly and slid his underwear down over his hips until he could kick his way free.

It only took a few moments for Dean to do the same. Then things felt like they were as close to perfect as they could get.

Sam's hand snaked down between their bodies and his long fingers curled around the width of Dean's cock. When he lifted his head, Dean moaned and claimed Sam's mouth almost desperately. Their teeth clicked and Sam whimpered as the scrapes on his cheek ached under the pressure.

Dean's tongue swept through Sam's mouth as though he was memorizing all the curves and surfaces. In return Sam nipped and sucked, learned the taste of Dean and some of the things that made Dean growl softly.

All the while, Sam palmed Dean's cock. The taut skin was smooth and over-heated and Sam loved the feel and weight of it.

It was obvious Dean liked Sam's touch. The sweetest sounds reached Sam's ears through the fog of his desire.

When Dean began rocking his hips forward, Sam set a steady rhythm. He fisted Dean's cock like it was his own, slow enough to tease - fast enough to keep Dean on the edge. 

Sam's ability to think failed completely the instant Dean's palm slid down across his abs. As Dean's fingers slid through the wiry hair at the base of Sam's cock, his mouth moved along Sam's jaw.

Dean made his way to Sam's ear at the same time as his fingers ran the length of Sam's cock.

It was mind blowing and Sam tried to keep his own hand moving on Dean's arousal. Heart beating way too fast, Sam felt Dean's tongue dart into his ear. He teased like that until Sam whined. 

" _Dean,_ " Sam managed to whisper.

The sound just seemed to spur Dean on. The hunter's rough palm slid over the tender flesh of Sam's balls. It was like a shot of adrenaline. Sam couldn't stay still. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't stop. He was so screwed.

The pads of Dean's fingers bumped over the ridge of flesh at the head of Sam's cock. He circled it with his grip and tried to match Sam's rhythm. 

Aching for more, Sam rolled towards Dean. Their knuckles rubbed together and Dean grunted as he chased down Sam's mouth.

The kiss felt like it went on forever. It was fiery hot, wet, just on the right side of _too hard_.

Dean's thumb swept over the head of Sam's cock. the slick of his own pre-come eased the slide of Dean's hand on the next sweep down. 

Letting himself just _feel_ , Sam slid his free hand up along Dean's side to his chest. He flicked a thumb over Dean's hard nipple at the same time as he squeezed the head of Dean's cock. It was Dean's turn to cry out; he entire body jolted and he buried his face in Sam's shoulder.

At first, Sam could barely keep moving. Dean was worrying a patch of skin on his neck, teeth then tongue, smooth lips after another bite. No surprisingly, Sam's rhythm faltered. With a loud groan Dean sank his teeth into Sam's shoulder.

"De-an…"

The ring of Sam's fingers started moving again. The weight of Dean's length felt so good, solid, _alive_.

Face to face, chest to chest, they continued to work each other's cocks. The buzz of pleasure was _everywhere_ in Sam's body and it was approaching the perfect pitch.

Halfway to crazy, Sam jerked Dean faster. Someone whimpered, Sam thought it was him.

Dean grabbed Sam's balls roughly and squeezed before picking up his former rhythm again. 

It took about three strokes for Sam to know he was done for. For a few seconds it felt like there was a vice grip on his balls and then all he could feel was the pulse and throb of the most intense release.

Dean kept up his stroking, slowing to match the almost painful pulse of come.

Gasping for air, Sam struggled to slide his fingers over Dean's hard flesh. He could feel the warm slick of his own come and rubbed it the length of Dean's cock.

Dean let loose another moan; it was filthy-sweet and made pleasure zing through Sam again. His cock throbbed weakly and then he felt Dean's pulsing in his hand.

Unable to move, Sam pressed his forehead to Dean's as the man's body twitched through his release. It was so many kinds of hot, Sam had to close his eyes.

"Jesus, Sammy." There was a weakness in Dean's voice that melted what was left of Sam's insides.

"Uh huh."

Dean laughed breathily and pressed a kiss to Sam's injured cheek. "Guess I know how to shut you up now."

Scoffing half-heartedly, Sam couldn't help but grin like an idiot. He felt drunk, used up, and he'd never been more exhausted in his life.

Sam's heart was a write off. There was something oddly adorable about Dean. It was such a contract the the gruffness and strength that was Dean's default.

"Don't flatter yourself," Sam mumbled. But it was pointless. Covered in sweat and come, weak as a kitten, barely coherent, Sam didn't have a leg to stand on.

Dean's laugh was low and he rolled slightly to reach for the cloth he'd used on Sam earlier. He pushed back the covers so he could wipe down Sam's abs.

"This is becoming a habit, Sam." 

"Hmm?" Sam was enjoying the gentle touch as he tried to catch his breath.

"Me cleanin' you up." Dean caught his bottom lip under his teeth and moved back to clean himself off before tossing the cloth onto the floor.

Sam chucked softly and rolled his shoulders a little to try and get comfortable.

"You're dangerous, Sam," Dean whispered.

Sam had been called a lot of things but _dangerous_ was never one of them. He groaned and rolled towards Dean to protest. All he found there was the softness of Dean's mouth. Instead of talking, Sam found himself sinking down into the futon as their mouths slid together languidly. It was _more_ than enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam woke earlier than usual. It was probably because his body hurt _everywhere_. He had a headache that rivalled any he'd had before in intensity. It ached so badly, he had trouble opening his eyes. It sucked.

What _didn't_ suck was the fact that Dean was still stretched out in bed beside him. He was spread-eagle on his back; one arm was flung across Sam's belly, his hair was flattened on one side, flipped up on the other.

Sam smiled. He definitely hadn't expected Dean to be there when he awoke. Stealing a few final moments, Sam ran his fingers along the inside of Dean's wrist, over his palm then wove their fingers together.

"You're not one of those demented morning people are you?" Dean's voice was thick with sleep and he squeezed Sam's fingers gently.

Sam laughed and shrugged. "I'm not _much_ of a morning person." 

"I knew it." Dean yanked his hand free and flailed around under the covers for a few moments. When he finally fought his way free he rolled towards Sam and flopped half over his chest.

All the air was forced out of Sam's lungs and he grunted. Dean kept surprising him by being _different_. All serious hunter one minute and oddly playful the next. It wasn't that Sam disliked it. It was just a little disconcerting.

Sam pressed his palms flat against Dean's broad back. There were faint freckles scattered across the top of Dean's shoulders and it made Sam smile. Freckles were as out of place on the hunter's body as the random gentleness seemed in his personality. Dean was a lot more complicated than he seemed.

"You gotta go anywhere today?" Dean's voice was muffled; his face pressed against Sam's chest.

"Gotta eat at some point. That's about it." For some reason, Sam didn't want to admit that he usually spent the entire weekend shut up in the lighthouse. It was his safe escape from everything and everyone.

"Food's good," dean mumbled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before stretching his arm out so he could slide his palm down Sam's leg. "Tall."

Sam let out another brief laugh. "I am. Six five."

"Not used to people bein' taller than me," Dean mumbled. He turned his head slowly, lips rubbing against Sam's chest and then he was peering up at Sam.

Still smiling, Sam reached over to try and flatten Dean's hair. It sprang back up as soon as Sam lifted his hand.

"I cannot be tamed," Dean muttered.

For someone who claimed not to be a morning person, Sam thought Dean was pretty entertaining.

"How long you gonna be on the island, Dean?" It would have been easier for Sam _not_ to bring it up but he knew it was inevitable. It felt a little like it might be less painful if he knew when Dean would be disappearing from his life again.

"Usually takes people longer to get tired of me." Dean's hand settled at the base of Sam's throat, his thumb gently stroking the dip below Sam's Adam's apple.

"Could get used to this. Especially if you can be persuaded to bring me coffee."

Sam had no intention of taking anything that Dean said seriously. Well, except maybe the coffee. "You get your heavy ass offa me and I can put the coffee on."

"Tough decision." Dean shifted back a little and twisted up to rest his chin on Sam's shoulder.

Taking a chance, Sam slid his arm over Dean's shoulders. He liked the closeness. "Sleep okay?"

"Yup. Like a baby. You?"

"Woke myself up a couple times. Shoulder was painful when I turned over."

"Shit." Dean pushed up quickly. "I totally forgot to get you-"

"It's fine, Dean." Sam tightened his arm to get Dean to settle back down. Truthfully, his back hurt a little but he was willing to take it.

"How's your face?' Dean settled back down and pressed his fingers gently just below Sam's cheek. "Some of those scrapes were pretty big. Damn, that ghost was a dick."

Sam was sure he was gonna end up with a couple of scars but people always said that added character. "Why was that ghost there?"

Dean settled back down at Sam's side. "Can happen a lot of ways. Untimely death, unfinished business. I'm guessin' his bones didn't end up cemented into a wall by accident.

"Yeah, I guess not. But why did everything get worse when they renovated?" Sam was still trying to get his brain wrapped around the whole hunting thing.

"Maybe someone moved somethin' that belonged to him. Maybe the bones were disturbed during the construction." Dean shrugged and traced his fingers along Sam's collarbone.

Trying his best not to be distracted, Sam tried to keep his mind on ghosts and hauntings. "How do you find out about … places like this."

"Internet. You _do_ have that here on your island, right?" 

Sam nudged Dean with his shoulder but it only made the man laugh. "Jerk."

"Name callin' so soon in our relationship, Sammy?" The curve of Dean's smile pressed against Sam's chest and Dean draped his arm over Sam's waist.

"We both know that's not what we're doing here," Sam said. He hadn't intended it to sound quite as sharp as it did. He just couldn't afford any illusions; he'd lived on them once before and it hadn't turned out so well.

Dean leaned back a little so he could see Sam's expression. "That was kind of bitchy."

Keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling didn't help. Sam could _feel_ Dean's eyes on him. When he realized that Dean wasn't going to look away, Sam shrugged. "It's the truth."

"What happened to you, Sam?"

There was a pressure building in Sam's chest; an internal weight. "Nothin'."

"It's just. Look. I'm not good at this kind of stuff. Talkin', workin' shit out." Dean pushed up onto his elbows; never taking his eyes off of Sam.

"We don't have to _talk_." Sam didn't say things like that. Of course, there wasn't usually someone there to say it to.

"I'm not stupid, Sam. As inviting as that is, I know you're just trying to distract me." Dean wasn't very convincing; his fingers were moving slowly over Sam's hipbone.

"How long you gonna be on the island?" Sam had noticed that Dean had avoided answering the question the first time he'd asked.

It was Dean's turn to shrug. "Job's done. Unless you got anymore ghosts hidden away. Lighthouse seems fine." Dean smiled weakly and sighed.

"So. The ferry tomorrow morning? Terrance will have it ready to go by eight."

"Wow." Dean rolled away onto his back. "If I couldn't remember last night, I'd be wondering if you even liked me."

It was one of the problems Sam had dealt with most of his life. Maybe it was the legacy of too many foster homes. _Everyone leaves. Some more quickly than others._

"Dean, I'm sorry. It's just-"

"You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I don't want you to go," Sam blurted out.

Dean turned his head on the pillow so he could see Sam. "What?"

"I don't want you to go yet. We barely know each other. You can't stay here on the island. I shouldn’t even be like this; hell, I've never been like this. Not that I do this all the time. Fuck. Dean I know it's stupid and the sooner you leave the sooner I can just forget you were ever here." Out of breath, Sam gasped for air before finally turning to look at Dean.

The hunter's eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly as though he was searching for something to say and he looked completely thrown.

For a while, all Sam could hear was his own heart pounding loudly in his ears. He wouldn't be at all surprised if Dean just got up, got dressed and left.

"Sam, you're breathin' kinda weird."

"I'm good. I'm okay." The tightness and pressure in his chest wasn't easing at all. He forced himself to breathe slower, steadier.

"Okay. You're probably thinkin' that I'm gonna freak out and leave now, right?"

Sam nodded. There didn't seem to be any point in lying after what he'd just laid on Dean. He steeled himself for what was to come.

"I'm not," said Dean. "Freakin' out _or_ leavin' I mean."

Rather than risking opening his mouth again and blurting out anything else, Sam confined himself to nodding.

"There's something about you, okay?" Dean looked a little sheepish and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I don't - okay; I've been known to pick up people in a bar here and there. But I don't spend the night and I _absolutely_ do not take them hunting with me. Sammy, I don't even tell anyone what I do."

The pressure easing a little and Sam finally felt like he could swallow. "Okay."

"Okay? That's all you got?" 

"Yeah." Sam wasn't sure he could say much more without making an ass of himself. Okay, without making _more_ of an ass of himself.

"Well. Then I'm gonna stay till tomorrow." Dean folded his arms across his chest and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. It looked as though he expected Sam to protest and was prepared to stand his ground.

"Okay. I want - you wanna stay here again tonight?” The sheets felt cool under Sam's fingers as he stretched them out. Then he could feel Dean's hip. The man was warm.

"Of course I want to stay here, you idiot. Why else would I want to stay another night?" Dean's face was screwed up in frustration.

Finally, Sam was able to smile slightly. Another twenty-four hours. That was a _hell_ of a lot more than he'd thought he would get. "No more hunting though."

Dean unfolded his arms and slipped one under the covers. Even though his brow was still furrowed, his hand searched around until his fingers found Sam's. "Maybe you could show me what _you_ do then, Sunshine."

"What I do is boring."

"Sometimes, hunting is boring."

"I find _that_ hard to believe." Sam smiled again. He was kind of surprised that Dean didn't just want to get the hell away from the crazy before he caught it himself. It was one thing for Sam to live with the way he was but he'd put a lot on Dean in a very short time. It was a lot for someone who had met him about twenty-eight hours earlier.

"I'm hungry," Dean said.

Sam just went with it; anything other than what they _had_ been talking about. "Breakfast at Erma's?"

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume there will be questions." Dean half smiled and gazed over at Sam.

"Probably. Erma likes to know everything. If that bothers you, we don't have to go there. I've got cereal." Sam didn't usually go to the restaurant but Dean seemed like the kind of guy who was happier with a belly full of food and coffee.

Dean licked his lips. "After last night, I need more than cereal, dude. Gotta save my energy for _later_."

Heat burned slightly in Sam's cheeks as he was flooded with vivid memories of the night before. "We can tell her nothing happened," Sam offered. It wasn't like he was looking forward to Erma figuring out _anything_.

Dean scoffed and rolled into Sam's body. "Not admit that I went home with the hottest piece of ass on the island?"

"It's a small island, Dean." But Sam pulled Dean closer because the words sent a little thrill down his spine. He loved the feel of Dean: he was all hard muscle, firm, a well-worked body.

"You really don't know, do you?" Dean's hand slid over Sam's uninjured cheek and urged him forward into a kiss.

Sam had no idea what it was that he didn't know but he quickly found that he didn't care. The smooth play of Dean's lips across his was about the most distracting feeling in the world. When Dean licked at Sam's lips, parting them slowly, Sam was certain he knew _nothing_ but that feeling.

/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\

The bell on the door to Erma's cafe rattled Sam's nerves. He'd lived on the island a long time and never once had he felt nervous before heading into the diner.

Dean was wearing one of Sam's t-shirts; it hung down a little below his leather jacket. Sam had beaten the hell out of dean's jeans on the outside lighthouse railing. Concrete dust had billowed out of them in clouds.. It had made Sam very thankful that he had clean clothes.

"Well, hello there, boys." Erma sounded chipper and Sam hoped it wasn't because she was salivating over the idea of juicy gossip.

"Erma!" Dean called out cheerily. "How's my favorite island girl?"

"Dean Winchester, put that silver tongue of yours to work on someone else." Erma smiled as she swung around the end of the counter to grab the coffee pot and two mugs.

"Erma, are you really immune to my charms?" Grinning, Dean sat down on one of the stools at the counter.

Lifting her eyebrows, Erma poured a coffee for Dean and slid it towards him. "Seems like those charms of yours worked quite well on our Sammy, here."

"Wait, what?" Sam sank down onto the stool next to Dean's. He was completely convinced that Erma was some kind of mind-reading ninja.

All Dean did was chuckle softly and flash a smile at Sam. 

As she slid a mug of steaming coffee towards Sam, Erma smiled sweetly. "It's written all over your face, boy."

Sam fought the sudden urge to rub at said face and glanced quickly at Dean again.

"What makes you so sure I'm the one who did the charming?" Dean interjected. The toe of his boot pressed against Sam's. "Sammy here is quite a guy."

"That he is, Dean. That he is." Erma looked at each of them for a few moments and then leaned on the counter. "I'm figurin' you boys need some food to go with the coffee. The usual, Sam?"

Sam nodded mutely while Dean explained how he wanted two of everything. Finally, Erma trundled off to the kitchen.

"I told you," Sam hissed.

Dean laughed again and slipped his hand over Sam's knee. "Chill, Sammy or you're gonna bust something. She's just good at reading people. Besides, you're glowing." Dean lifted his cup to his mouth and took a few gulps.

"Glow - I am not!" Sam protested. This time, Sam gave in to the urge to drag a hand down his face. He was feeling a little like everything he was thinking was written across his forehead or something.

"Sam. She's good people. Don't get all twisted up over this."

Curling his hands around the coffee mug, Sam let the heat soak in. Dean was probably right. There was nothing to worry about. Sam started when Dean's fingers touched his wrist.

"Jesus, Sam. You're a high strung guy." Dean looked a little worried as he slid his hand forward to cover Sam's.

"Just not used to it," Sam murmured. There were so many things he wasn't used to and Dean was very much at the center of all of them. Trying to act a little more normally, Sam turned his hand over so he could clasp Dean's.

Leaning in closer, Dean set his coffee down and locked his eyes on Sam's. "I don't know what happened to you, Sam. I can see you've been through some battles; maybe even lost a few. But nothing' gonna happen to you on my watch."

The look on Dean's face was so sincere it made Sam's throat tighten with emotion. The surprising part was that he _believed_ Dean. "You're a pretty convincing guy."

Dean nodded, sincere quickly replaced by smug. "It's all that charm Erma accused me of having."

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam smiled and picked up his coffee.

"Just a few minutes, boys," Erma called out. "Get the pot when Dean needs more coffee, Sam."

There was a crooked grin on Dean's face as he tapped the rim of his rather suddenly empty coffee cup.

"You drained that deliberately," Sam said as he stood and walked down to the end of the counter. He shrugged his shoulders to adjust his jacket and tugged his shirt down.

He grabbed the coffee pot and paced over to Dean to refill his mug. "You're lucky I like you."

"Don't I know it," Dean answered quickly.

Shaking his head fondly, Sam replaced the pot on the burner and headed back around to his seat.

"We should go for a drive around the island after this. On my map there's an old road that goes all the way around this rock." 

"Yeah. Sure." Sam knew the road well. He was pretty sure that Dean's car could make it all the way around without bottoming out.

"I think there's still some beer in my cooler." Dean leaned forward to see what Erma was up to back in the kitchen. "I'm starving," he muttered under his breath.

"Won't take long." Sam twisted his coffee cup around on the counter. "Hey, Dean. You got email or something? We could stay in touch."

"Ah, not that already." Dean groaned. "We got lots of time. All day. _And_ , I don't know about you; but I'm looking forward to tonight."

Erma pushed the kitchen door open with her back and turned around with two overfilled plates. "Here you go, boys."

Dean leaned in until his lips ghosted over the curve of Sam's ear. "Been thinkin' about fucking you up against those windows."

The mouthful of coffee that Sam had swallowed stopped halfway down and he choked.

Erma slid the plates onto the counter. "Y'alright there, Sam?"

Sam blinked his watering eyes and coughed a few more times. "M'good."

"Erma, this looks _so_ good," Dean said. Under the counter he slid his hand over Sam's thigh again.

Sam nodded in agreement and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. There was a heat burning low in Sam's body and his head was spinning. Dean was like some kind of drug. He closed his eyes for a few moments then picked up his fork. "Looks great."

Stabbing at the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate, Sam tried to ignore the tight grip Dean had on his thigh.

"Good, isn't it, Sam?" Dean popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and winked at Sam.

Sam looked down at his food quickly. Dean was going to be the death of him.

/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\

After breakfast and a promise to Erma that they would be back for breakfast the next day before the ferry, Sam and Dean headed out.

It was a warm fall afternoon. The kind of day that Sam looked forward to. There was sunshine and a cool breeze off the ocean. 

They had all the windows rolled down and Dean was playing a variety of tapes that Sam hadn't heard in a _very_ long time. Sam hadn't even _seen_ an actual cassette tape in years. He had teased Dean about that for a while. It had certainly offset some of the sexual tension. 

They'd made it about a quarter of the way around the island before Dean leaned over to turn down _Stairway To Heaven_. "You live near the ocean as a kid, Sam?"

Sam was finally starting to get used to having company. He actually wasn't startled by Dean's sudden utterances.

Shaking his head, Sam turned on the seat a little to face Dean. "L.A. mostly and the suburbs. I didn't move up this way until I was out of the system."

Dean nodded and leaned his elbow on the door. "How many?"

Whenever people asked that question, Sam wasn't sure what to answer. "I stopped counting after six. Seemed like it would hurt less."

"Did it?" Dean had a way of asking questions that stabbed painfully right into the bullseye.

"No," Sam said softly. "Didn't help at all actually." There was no way Sam was going to recount his pathetic tale of nights spent _hoping_ beyond hope that he'd get to spend a few more days somewhere. There had been too many to count and the worst part was that Sam had always been able to sense a move coming. There were tell-tale signs.

"It's weird. You didn't have any family? Someone must have looked." Obviously, Dean's hunting had given him a well developed curiosity.

"No one." One of the problems with giving people a little bit of information was that they always wanted more.

"What about records, Sam? I mean, this isn't my area of expertise but there must-"

"Oh!" Sam interrupted. "Turn left there. I wanna show you something."

Even though Dean turned off the road, Sam heard the sigh he tried to hide. It was clear that Dean didn't appreciate the subject change.

The road led closer to the shoreline and it was more of a set of tracks than an actual roadway. Sam braced himself against the car door as the car bumped back and forth.

As casually as he could, Sam smiled and pointed at the last clearing before the rocky beach. "Park just over there. We gotta go the rest of the way on foot."

After he turned off the ignition, Dean glanced at Sam then sighed and climbed out of the car.

The noise of the door slamming was deafening and Sam winced. "Fuck," he whispered.

He could see Dean standing on the edge of the beach, staring out, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.

Shoving his door open, Sam took a deep breath. The smell of the ocean was so much stronger and it relaxed Sam a little. He rolled his shoulders to try and get rid of some of the muscle tension then headed over to stand behind Dean. "Hey."

"What?"

Pressing his lips together, Sam hesitated a few moments and then stepped in the slide his arms around Dean. He rested his chin on Dean's shoulder. "You mad?"

Dean shrugged. "Sad mostly. You got a lot of secrets."

"It's not like that," Sam said softly. The scent of Dean was mingling with the smell of the ocean. It was a good combination.

"What's it like, Sam?"

"I don't - I just don't want to spend our time together talking about that stuff.” It wasn't the absolute truth. Even if they had the next year Sam still wouldn't want to talk.

"i'm just curious about you, Sam. People are curious when they like someone; they ask questions. It's how it's supposed to work.”

Part of Sam couldn't help remembering back to their first night together. "You didn't want to talk about what happened to your dad."

Dean's shoulders stiffened against Sam's chest. "Not the same."

"Dean, please. It's just the same sob story as thousands of other kids. The system sucks; that's all."

When Dean stayed silent, Sam slid a hand under the flap of Dean's jacket. he could feel the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest. "We don't have enough time."

It was kind of a loaded statement. Sure, they didn't have enough time left in the day. But Sam knew he meant more than that.

Finally, Dean's shoulders dropped slightly and he reached up to curl his fingers over Sam's wrist. "Later then."

Sam nodded against Dean's cheek and stepped out from behind him. "Come on. I want to show you this."

Yanking on Dean's arm, Sam walked a few steps backwards. "Aren't you curious?"

Dean rolled his eyes but he followed Sam anyway. "This better be good."

"It is," Sam said quickly. After grabbing Dean's hand, Sam turned and headed along a narrow path worn into the slope. There were a few spots that were kind of treacherous. Erosion had been at work on the path for a very long time.

Dean only stumbled once; he was as sure-footed as Sam had expected. But then, Dean seemed like the kind of guy who could handle himself in any situation.

"Just around this corner." Sam glanced back and smiled. He was pleased when Dean smiled back at him.

They walked for a few more minutes then rounded a final outcropping of rock. Sam just stepped off to the side and waited for Dean to look up.

"Whoa," Dean exclaimed softly.

"Yeah." Sam had been there countless times but he'd never shared it with anyone before.

The pale rock face extended up about twenty feet. There was an outcropping at the top that was almost like an awning. All along the lower section of the wall were petroglyphs.

The faded symbols had an ochre tint to them. All the color was held in slight furrows almost like each shape was carved.

"Great, huh?" Sam asked.

Still silent, Dean nodded. He walked closer and crouched down to take a closer look. "What do they mean?"

"I've never looked them up. Usually, I get curious about stuff like this but I just wanted to keep it a mystery. Leave it a little bit of its magic."

Sam couldn't' really explain it any better. He liked the idea that he was standing on the same spot as the person who'd carved all the symbols. 

"How'd you find this place, Sam?"

"Walking," Sam answered quietly. "When I first moved here I would walk for hours. I've never lived in a place so finite before."

Standing, Dean reached out and traced some of the lines. "Finite."

"I've been moving my whole life," Sam said. "Felt kind of like one long fuckin' journey." Sam paced over to the wall and let his fingers trail down it lightly.

"And this place has boundaries," Dean offered.

Nodding, Sam smiled. "No matter how much I walk, how far I run, I can't leave this place. I like that."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he reached out to trace his finger over some of the lines.

"Whatcha thinking about?" There was a ledge of rock off to the side behind Dean and Sam walked over to sit down.

"You ever look at things like this and wonder why people do it?" Turning around, Dean sat down with his back against the wall of stone.

"I guess. I haven't been very many places. I'm curious about people. It's bizarre to think back to the person who did these. Can't imagine he would have ever thought we'd be sitting here so many years in the future." Realizing he was babbling a little, Sam smiled and looked back across the path to the ocean.

"Stonehenge, Pyramids?" Dean stretched his legs out then crossed them at the ankle.

Turning back, Sam nodded. "Yeah. People were killed building both of those. What makes people dedicate their lives to something like that?'

"Easy. We all wanna be remembered, Sammy. It's part of being human. Leaving a story behind, a sign we were here. We wanna make sure there's a part of us that's immortal." There was a peaceful smile on Dean's face. It suited him.

"I think you got something there." It probably explained a lot about people. Leaning back against the cool stone, Sam brushed his hair back and stared down at his boots..

"Now you've gone all thinky again."

"It's a good theory you got there."

"Don't sound too surprised, Sam. I'm not an idiot." Dean tried for fake indignation but his lips twitched as he tried to hide his smile.

"Fear," Sam said. "It's at the root of so many bad decisions. Maybe we're all just worried we'll disappear."

Tipping his chin up in agreement, Dean pressed his lips together. 

"Or we just want to be remembered by someone," Sam said softly.

After a few moments, Dean moved over to sit by Sam.

"Good thing we met each other."

Sam frowned. "Well, yeah, but why?"

Dean smirked at Sam; his nose wrinkled. "A. I get to touch you." True to his word, Dean reached over to slowly slide his hand down Sam's thigh.

The always simmering heat in Sam's belly sparked to life. He'd never felt like that before when anyone touched him. "And what's B?"

"I'll always remember you now. That's B. You've got your little bit of immortality." When he looked up, Dean's eyes were soft, his cheeks a little rosy from the sun and the wind.

"That makes it sound like you're leaving. You don't have to remember someone if you're with them." The idea of Dean leaving just wouldn't leave Sam alone for even a few minutes.

"I _am_ gonna leave Sam. It's what I do. I never stay in one place very long. One of the perks of the job."

"Hunting," Sam said icily. He'd never been jealous of a profession before. Not that it would do him much good.

A larger wave crashed against the shore and Sam looked over at it. He closed his eyes to focus on the sound of the ocean.

Dean's hand slid higher on Sam's thigh; his grip tightened enough to make Sam's heart beat a little faster.

"Sam. I haven't lied to you. I never will. But things are what they are. It's not like I won't be able to swing back from time to time. If that's what you want, I mean."

 _From time to time_ didn't sound very positive to Sam. Neither did it sound like the kind of thing that would last. But then, why should it? There wasn't much that Sam had to offer someone like Dean. 

"Sam?"

"I know, Dean. You seem like a good guy."89

Dean pressed his free hand to the chest and reeled back in mock horror. "A good guy? That's the kiss of death, right there."

It seemed like Dean was determined to keep the mood pleasant.

"It just sucks that it had to happen like this," Sam said. He sighed and covered Dean's hand.

"Or," Dean said with a slight drawl. "Think about it this way. All these people in the world; all these places. Think about all the things that had to line up for you and I to meet."

The smile was back on Dean's face. The man was pretty stubborn.

Relenting, Sam sighed. "I _suppose_ that's kind of amazing.”

"Kind of?" Dean bumped his shoulder into Sam's playfully.

"Okay. It's a _lot_ amazing," Sam relented. "Good enough?" It was impossible for Sam to keep the smile off his face. Hunter or not, Dean seemed to have that kind of effect on Sam.

Leaning in, Dean pressed his lips to Sam's. For a moment it was chaste and sweet. Then Dean's lips parted. His tongue slid forward and Sam lost his way a little.

/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\

Eventually, Sam and Dean made it back to the car and finished their island circle. The rest of their journey felt lighter. They got to know each other a little.

Dean admitted to enjoying Mexican soaps and Housewives of Beverly Hills. The first puzzled Sam, the second made him laugh until he cried.

Halfway around the island, Sam admitted that he'd never eaten rhubarb pie. Erma made it but it just didn't seem right to Sam. They had a big debate about pie and a brief discussion about how much rhubarb looked like celery.

The story of the Impala was told. Sam heard about Dean's father, John, picking her out even though he'd gone out intending to buy a VW Van. She'd been rebuilt no less than three times but Dean was vague about the circumstances surrounding those rebuilds. Dean was _shocked_ and appalled that Sam didn't know what an 'on-frame' rebuild was.

Sam talked a little about his work. His description of the process of coding looked like it nearly fried Dean's brain. The hunter was much more interested in the lighthouse and the automated process Sam managed. They had a fiery debate about whether computers or human beings were more reliable. Sam thought machines were. Dean thought people were.

By the time they made it back to Erma's, Dean owed Sam $20 because of lost bets made over trivia and the two men had agreed to a pushup contest when they were back at the lighthouse.

All in all, it had been a pretty good day. Sam didn't have a lot to compare it to, but he _knew_ there was something unusual about the way the two of them got along. He _knew_ it.

Sam assured Dean that he would only be a few minutes when he'd slipped out of the car in front of Erma's. There were a few groceries he wanted to pick up as a little surprise for Dean.

Erma was pleased to see Sam, perhaps even more than usual. But she gathered together all the things that Sam wanted quickly and began packing them into a large paper bag.

"Sam, darlin'. You're not gettin' in over your head, are you?" For once, there was a gentler expression on Erma's aged face.

"What? Over my head?" Blinking a few times, Sam fiddled with the corner of the menu that was sitting in front of him. The last thing he wanted was a lecture.

"Sweetheart. You've just come such a long way since you got here. Grown so much. You know? I'm not one for speeches-"

"You're doing a pretty good job-"

"Samuel Wesson. Don't you _dare_ talk back to me," Erma reprimanded. "You will have a _very_ different diet if you piss off the one person on the island who does all the grocery orders."

Wide-eyed, Sam leaned back a little, surprised by Erma's tone. He pressed his lips together tightly and nodded, dropping his head, in what he hoped was a cowed expression.

"I just care about you, Sam. Don't wanna see you get hurt." Erma patted the back of Sam's hand and smiled at him. 

"I'm not gonna get hurt, Erma. I promise," Sam said as steadily as he could.

When their eyes met, Erma just stared at Sam for a while. Finally, she nodded and released Sam's hand then slid the bag of groceries towards him. 

After a quick goodbye, Sam beat a hasty retreat. He was pretty relieved to see the sun glint off Dean's car when he stepped outside.

Crossing the parking lot quickly, Sam yanked the backdoor open and set the groceries down.

"What'd you get?" Dean asked.

"Never you mind," Sam teased before closing the door and getting in the front. Relieved, he sank down onto the front seat.

Dean did a double take when he saw Sam's face. "You look rattled. Did Erma have another round of teasing ready for you?"

"Yeah," Sam said after the briefest hesitation. "Definitely." Averting his gaze, Sam looked out the window as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive back up to the lighthouse was quiet but Sam didn't mind. Truth be told, he wasn't used to being with people all day and all night. 

Once the Impala was parked in its usual spot, they headed up the path to the lighthouse. Sam picked up the groceries and his jacket and brought up the rear.

When they got to the main door, Sam tossed the keys to Dean so he could open up. "Hey, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam stopped and looked around, wondering if they'd forgotten something in the car.

"Race ya to the top. First one up to the top gets to be in charge tonight."

Before Sam could even respond, the door was closing and Sam could hear Dean's boots thumping on the iron stairs.

Balancing the groceries on his hip, Sam pulled the door open, stopping long enough to flip the lock, and bolted up the steps.

"You cheated," he yelled up the stairs.

"You have home court advantage," came Dean's already distant reply.

Sam rounded a few of the lower spirals of the staircase and picked up his pace. 

“In change of what exactly?"

Sam knew that Dean had to be close to the watch deck. There was no way he could catch him.

"Sex," Dean called out _just_ before Sam heard the watch deck door squeak open.

Somehow, he didn't think he was going to mind losing the race.

/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\

The only other time Sam had spent an entire day with someone, it had been a case worker. Dean was much better company.

The impromptu dinner Sam put together from the groceries at Erma's was pretty good. Dean's favorite part by far seemed to be the rhubarb pie that Sam tried. It was better than he'd expected but unlikely to replace blueberry as his favorite.

Dean seemed happy. He had puttered around the lighthouse while Sam was cooking on the small camp stove. At one point, when Sam went to check on Dean, the hunter was fixing the hinges on the lamp room windows. It was a nice image: Dean in his t-shirt and jeans, chewing his bottom lip as he filed down some of the broken metal. Dean was the kind of guy who belonged in his own house. He was the kind of guy who should own a fixer-upper.

After dinner and dishes (which resulted in a brief water fight), the men settled down to watch the sunset with a beer. 

"Stop complaining, Dean. Sometimes, a sunset is worth watching. It's like our own personal nature channel." Sam hopped up onto the iron storage bin that ran along the outside walkway.

Dean took a few gulps of beer as he stared out at the horizon. "I just don't sit still very often."

"Seems more like you're the opposite."

"Hmm?

"You look like the kind of guy who would sit on his porch at night with a cold one. Lookin' out over your yard. Or… or, the car."

"What?"

"You'd work on the car-"

"Baby?"

"Yes." Sam smirked. "Baby. Tinker with the engine all day, have a beer when you're done."

"It is not called _tinkering_ when I work on my car." Dean hopped up onto the storage box beside Sam.

Laughing, Sam lifted his bottle to his lips. The beer was cold, the bottle slippery with condensation. Sam didn't drink very often and he was starting to feel pleasantly buzzed.

"Okay. If we're playing _what if_ games. What about you, Sam? Are you the kind of guy who would sit on his front porch?"

Shaking his head, Sam laughed. "I think I'm more like the guy who sits inside and watches through the front window."

"The neighbourhood Boo Radley?"

Sam glanced over at Dean with raised eyebrows.

"What? I read."

Sam looked back out at the sunset with a smile on his face.

"Okay," Dean said. "I watched the movie. But it's still kinda creepy to want to be the _watcher_."

"I guess." It didn't really seem creepy to Sam. It seemed safer.

"How long do you plan to stay up here in your tower?"

Shrugging, Sam drank a little bit more beer. "It's my first real home."

"This isn't even your house," Dean exclaimed. “What about that place?"

"It's just a place I rent. All my work gear is set up there. I couldn't run all my computer stuff out here."

"I've always thought of my car as _home_."

"Guess we're both odd that way," Sam said quietly.

As the sun sank down closer to the horizon, the sky was becoming more red than blue. There were streaks of pink and purple in between the smattering of clouds.

"It's beautiful, right?" Sam asked.

"It's not too shabby, Sam. You've got a home with a view." The beer bottle Dean was holding clinked when he set it down beside him. He folded his arms across his chest almost as though he was cold.

"You good?"

Dean nodded, staring at the sky.

It would be one of those evenings Sam would file away. A time and place he could visit in his mind when he needed an escape. It would be hard to forget the way Dean looked, sitting there watching the sunset.

"My Dad was killed while he was hunting," Dean said. The words seemed _careful_ , a little clipped.

There wasn't anything that Sam could think of to say. He'd figured that something bad had happened; he could see the weight of it on Dean's face.

"Sam, there are more things out there than ghosts."

"Vampires?" Sam asked. He remembered that conversation well.

Nodding, Dean kept staring at the sunset. "A lot of those _things_ aren't good. Some of the worst are demons."

The word hung in the air between them for a while and Sam tried to process it. _Demons_. The word made Sam think of little stone gargoyles that crouched on the corners of old buildings and _Rosemary's Baby_.

After a deep breath, Sam set his beer down and pulled his legs up so he could sit cross-legged facing Dean. The sunset didn't seem as important all of a sudden. 

"Demons," Sam said. "As in Hell?"

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched and he looked down at his hands for a few moments. He nodded slowly, glanced at Sam then looked back out at the ocean.

"Sam, all that is real. Heaven, Hell and all the shit in between. Demons keep me busy a lot of the time and it was a demon who killed my dad."

Fear got a grip on Sam's throat and he had to force himself to swallow. "He- John was a hunter though, right? If you hunt demons-"

He was silenced by Dean's hand settling on his knee. "There are ways to kill demons. Rituals. I have a knife. Some of the TV crap is true. Salt circle, holy water -"

"Holy water?" Sam exclaimed. It seemed like the most ridiculous thing to actually have a _real_ effect.

"The knife I have, I got it from a demon. It kills them. I wish I'd had it back…"

Sam stayed quiet, waiting for Dean to say more and hoping that it would help make more sense of things.

"Dad was after this demon. He wasn't - he was strong. Bent on revenge. It was - it was a mess. Things really got out of hand." Dean's voice wavered and Sam took his hand.

"He was - protecting me, Sam. That's how it happened. He was there one second and then he was gone. One second between life and death."

It hurt to see Dean bearing the weight of so much loss. His father had obviously been important to him. It might be a relationship that was foreign to Sam but he could see the grief on Dean's face.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand gently.

"There been a lot of death around me, Sam. Part of being a hunter. Dad was … " Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That's why I hunt. It's what he raised me into. It's what I know."

It had taken minutes for the mood to change. All the peace and comfort Sam had been feeling had vanished. A gnawing fear replaced it.

"Why are you telling me this now, Dean?"

"I wanted you to know why I won't … can't stop hunting. The reason why I do this."

Sam nodded, thumb sliding over the cool skin of Dean's wrist. He nodded, not wanting to hear the words. This was why Dean would leaving in the morning.

The sun had all but disappeared. Sam looked up to see the glowing orb disappear into the ocean. Like always, he half expected to hear it hiss as it sank into the waves. Of course, that didn't happen.

Dean dragged his thumb along his bottom lip. "You could come with me sometime."

A myriad of emotions clashed deep inside Sam's chest. The fact that Dean would ask him was more than Sam could have hoped for. The fact that his answer would be _no_ brought a dull pain to Sam's head and chest.

All he did was look at Dean until the hunter turned and smiled sadly. He let his head fall, hanging heavily between his shoulders.

Sam smoothed his hand over Dean's hair and cupped the man's cheek. He frowned when Dean turned into the touch.

The air around them had cooled as the sun had set. Dean's skin felt cool to the touch. "We should go in," Sam said softly.

They moved without speaking. The only sound above the waves crashing far below was the clink of the empty beer bottles as Dean picked them up. The heavy metal door creaked as Sam pulled it open.

Reaching back, Dean clasped Sam's hand and kept him close as they headed down to the watchroom.

It was a little warmer inside. The wind had picked up and Sam could feel the air moving around them. Dean had opened all the windows earlier; he said he liked the smell of the ocean air.

As soon as everything was put away, Sam headed into the bathroom. He filled the sink with hot water from the kettle, then splashed in some cold. After yanking his shirt off over his head Sam pressed a hot washcloth to his face and breathed in the moist warmth.

It was only hours until Dean would leave. Hours until everything went back to normal in Sam's life.

He groaned into the damp cloth. The heat of it was fading already.

Rough fingers curled over his shoulders and made him jump. The washcloth fell into the basin with a splash.

The old mirror on the wall showed Dean standing behind him and Sam smiled. Dean's face disappeared and Sam felt cool lips against the back of his neck.

His spine shivered awake and Sam had to steady himself on the counter.

Dean's breath was hot on Sam's flesh, his fingers cooler as they led strong arms around Sam's body.

Dean picked up the washcloth and rubbed it across Sam's chest. As the cloth passed lower on Sam's body the air teased his wet nipples into hard peaks.

The next breath Sam tried to exhale caught in his chest and became a moan. He couldn't stand to think that he may never feel those hands again.

Dean moved the cloth over Sam's abs. The muscles fluttered as the warm dampness moved over them.

The ache in Sam's chest changed into something shaper. _Want_ swirled low in his belly and the heat of it bled through his body.

The cloth moved higher again and Sam felt fingers tangle in his hair. Dean tightened his grip and pulled Sam's head back. Sam's neck was forced into a long curve of flesh and Dean rubbed the cloth over every inch of bare skin.

Trembling slightly, Sam reached back to grasp a handful of the denim that covered Dean's thigh. Impatient, he tugged, trying to get Dean closer.

The hunter resisted. He smoothed the cloth down over Sam's shoulder then along his arm, lingering over the firm muscle in Sam's upper arm.

"Dean…"

At the sound of his name, Dean loosed his grip on Sam's hair. Taking hold of Sam's hip, Dean turned him. Sam heard the cloth drop into the basin behind him then Dean's hands were pressed flat to his back. He liked the way Dean held onto him.

When their eyes met, Dean's were already dark with lust. His skin was flushed and Sam could see the quick pace of Dean's pulse just under the pink flesh of his neck.

Sam felt compelled to press his thumb over the fluttering. Dean's lips pressed to Sam's finger, his tongue brushing over the skin.

"Let's go to bed," Dean said thickly.

"I thought you-"

"Who's in charge, Sam?"

Trying to hide his smile, Sam quirked an eyebrow. "You, Dean. You won the race." That was the third time he'd had to say it since they had returned to the lighthouse.

Dean nodded and grabbed Sam's hand to pull him out of the small bathroom.

When Sam bent to pick up his t-shirt, Dean yanked him back up. "You won't be needing that."

Sam's skin was damp, cool and now Dean's voice sent goose bumps skittering across his chest.

The watchroom was already dark. Dean must have turned off all the lights. It was still cool and Sam could still smell the ocean so the windows were all still open.

Sam rubbed a hand across his chest and shivered but it was more in anticipation than anything else. It was hard to read Dean; he was so silent.

Their bare feet scuffed softly against the floor. Sam stumbled once, in the darkness and Dean caught his arm.

"Be careful, Sammy. Don't go hurtin' what belongs to me." 

If the sound of Dean's low, rasping voice wasn't enough; those words tore through Sam's body. It felt like fire in his veins. Just the idea of _belonging_ to Dean made it hard for Sam to breathe.

Once they were standing at the end of the bed, Dean shed his t-shirt quickly and reached for his jeans. It was distracting, being so close to Dean. Sam could smell Dean - the familiar scent of leather and the undertone of sweat. He smelled like the outdoors, his car, and there was an unmistakable sweetness; it was like the scent of a carnival on the air. A little bit bad, a little bit dangerous.

Sam was brought back from his thoughts by by the metal clink of Dean's belt buckle. He watched as Dean shoved his jeans down then stepped out of them. There was a strange grace in the way Dean moved; it was mesmerizing.

Before he realized he was doing it, Sam was sliding his hands down along Dean's chest; his thumbs traced Dean's ribs and he leaned in to kiss Dean.

It turned out that Dean had other plans because he stopped Sam before their lips met.

He didn't have to remind Sam again about being in charge. There was something about Dean that just _oozed_ authority. Being in control suited him.

Dropping his arms to his sides, Sam took a deep breath. He widened his stance and locked his eyes with Dean's. As much as he wanted Dean, it was impossible for him not to be at _all_ stubborn.

"Tell me what you want, Sam." There was a dark glint in Dean's eyes and his tongue swept over the swell of his bottom lip.

Sam scratched his stomach, nervous. He'd never really gone in for the sex talk thing. It made him feel like he was acting. Then there was the fact that he didn't have that much experience. What did he want? Everything. And that would only make him sound needy and desperate.

Finally, when he couldn't take the silence, Sam hooked a fingers over the waistband of Dean's boxers and tried to tug him closer. "Come on, Dean. It's cold."

Standing there, Dean only looked up at Sam with a dark smile on his face.

The look scalded Sam and his body reacted so quickly it made his head spin. Under his now tight jeans he was painfully hard. Even his balls ached.

"Dean?"

Dean shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. Standing there clothed only in his boxers, Dean commanded more presence than anyone Sam had ever met. "Tell me what you want."

This time, the words came out more like an order. The hairs on the back of Sam's neck stood up and he felt his cock twitch in anticipation. "You, Dean."

"What was that, Sammy?"

A swell of desire nearly choked Sam and he rubbed at his throat. "I want you, Dean."

That was about as specific as Sam could get without losing his mind but it seemed to be enough.

Before Sam even registered the movement Dean was on him. A leg hooked behind Sam's as strong fingers dug into his shoulder. The room seemed to spin around him and then the breath flew out of Sam's lungs as his back hit the bed.

He must have looked surprised when he could finally see. Dean was still standing at the foot of the bed and he smiled. "Trained when I was a kid."

"Huh," Sam wheezed. Dean was like a big puzzle that Sam had to learn to solve as he uncovered all the pieces.

"Undo your jeans," Dean said. His voice was low and steady.

The button felt too tiny in Sam's huge hands and he struggled for a few moments before he was able to pop the button free and lower the zipper.

Dean grabbed the legs and pulled Sam's jeans off roughly. His boxers followed quickly then Sam found himself lying there, cock hard and weeping against his belly. And Dean had barely even touched him. "Dean…"

After a final smile, Dean slipped out of his own boxers and sank down onto the bed to crawl slowly up Sam's body. His lips blazed a trail on Sam's flesh; a kiss on the top of Sam's foot, a lick against his kneecap, the quivering muscle in Sam's thigh then the gentle slope of skin below the jut of his hipbone.

It felt to Sam like it was happening in slow motion. Each time Dean leaned closer, Sam felt the burn of Dean's stubble, and the rigid flesh of his arousal as it bumped against his skin.

It was torment.

Dean's tongue dipped into Sam's belly button then lapped at his abs as he moved a little higher. 

Sam almost choked on the moan he was trying to hold back. The sound must have pleased Dean because he growled softly against Sam's chest and bit down on Sam's nipple.

"Jesus," Sam whispered. He couldn't help the way his hands clawed at Dean' shoulders. When Dean's tongue flicked over the tortured tip of Sam's nipple his entire body jolted and his nails dug into Dean's flesh.

Dean groaned softly then simply continued to mouth his way across Sam's chest.

That's how it went on... and on. Everything in Sam's world narrowed down to the teasing, wet heat of Dean's mouth. As Sam tried to breathe, his body twitched and twisted, his back arched up; it was driving him insane.

There was no way Sam could stay quiet. If that had been Dean's goal he was _more_ than successful. Sam might have started with words but by the time Dean's teeth were marking his collarbone Sam was just making incoherent noises. He didn't care; he _couldn't_ care. His heart was pounding, his body covered in sweat, wisps of his hair were plastered to his forehead.

After what seemed like hours, the mattress bounced slightly as Dean fell against Sam's side. He scooted closer and nipped at Sam's jaw before whispering. "You still alive?"

"No," Sam murmured. He lifted his hand to grip the base of his cock tightly. He was so close to coming he could feel the blood pulsing in his balls.

Dean's hand covered Sam's and Sam found himself wondering if you could die from being over-excited. Every muscle in his body was tense, his vision was blurry, his lungs aching from the way he was panting. Once or twice he'd almost panicked, drowning in the sensation of Dean's touches.

"Just the first part of the ride, Sammy." There was a tightness in Dean's voice that sent another shiver of pleasure down Sam's body Dean wanted him just as badly. The realization made Sam's heart skip in his chest and he let his hand slide up the length of his cock.

Dean's hand settled on Sam's hip and he urged Sam to roll onto his side. As his body rolled, Sam grabbed onto Dean's hand and pulled it up to his mouth. He kissed the meat of Dean's palm, biting and licking.

"S'okay, Sam," Dean said gruffly. He pulled his hand back and pressed it to Sam's sweat-slick chest before sliding it the rest of the way down. Dean's touch swept over the curve of Sam's hip to cup and squeeze the swell of his ass.

Barely a moment passed before Dean was sliding his hand over the tight muscle in Sam's thigh. His hand curved forward and slid between Sam's legs so he could part them slowly.

It was then that Sam started to tremble. _Want_ was tearing him apart from the inside. The thing was, he wouldn't even care if it killed him because he'd never felt anything better.

Hot breath ghosted down Sam's neck as Dean panted softly. "Relax."

Everything in Sam's body felt weak and broken but he nodded. He would let Dean do anything he wanted.

Then Dean's fingers were on Sam's ass, his thumb tracing from the dimple at the base of Sam's spine to the warm skin behind his balls.

The feeling sent heat flooding to Sam's cheeks and he turned into the pillow as he let out a moan. Fingers tangled in Sam's hair and his head was pulled back until Dean's lips were at his ear again.

"Tell me again, Sam." Dean's voice was dark and rough; his breath hitched as he spoke and Sam could feel the hard flesh of Dean's cock against his ass. "Tell me."

"I just want you," Sam murmured. It took all the breath he had to get the words out. The muscles in his neck were strained; his throat tight. He heard Dean moving, the sheets rustling slightly as he moved.

Sam's mouth fell open as he gasped. Dean's fingers felt different; slick and cool as they pushed into his tight ring of muscle. 

Sam's heart lurched in his chest; his fingers snatched at the sheets until he was almost pulling them off the mattress.

The fingers slid deeper and Sam almost whimpered. It was strange, tight, _hot_ and Dean's tongue flicked along the shell of Sam's ear. Dean was everywhere and Sam was so overwhelmed he felt like he would just float right off the bed if Dean wasn't wrapped around him.

In the time it took Sam to wrestle some air into his starving lungs Dean shifted closer. His fingers thrust deeper into Sam's ass, nails scratching over Sam's scalp.

"Dean, please." The plea earned Sam a hard bite on his shoulder blade. Sam's body pressed back into the slick heat of Dean's. Dean's moan against Sam's shoulder seemed desperate, his grip tightening on Sam's locks.

The fingers slipped free and Sam reached back to rake his nails over Dean's hip. Finally, Dean let go of Sam's hair, his arm slid under Sam's neck to tighten across his chest.

Sam's leg was lifted higher and he pulled it forward as he felt the slick, blunt, head of Dean's cock push against his furled hole.

Breath harsh against Sam's cheek, Dean sucked _hard_ on Sam's skin and the painful pleasure of it rippled through Sam's body.

The pressure against Sam's ass built. A dull pain radiated out and Sam sucked in a deep breath.

"Breathe," Dean whispered into Sam's ear. He obeyed without thought and sucked in a deep breath before blowing it out shakily.

The aching pain had just begun to subside when Dean pushed forward again. Sam arched into the thrust and a thrill ran through him when Dean's cock sank deeper.

Sam threw his head back and could feel the wet slide of Dean's lips on his cheek. He tightened his arm around Sam's chest and thrust his hips forward firmly.

As their bodies locked together, Sam let out a sharp cry at the sudden pain and fullness. But _God_ , Sam could feel Dean _inside_ him him; his cock was thick, hard and hot and as the ache faded away Sam's body began to tingle again.

"God, Sam," Dean rasped. He nuzzled into Sam's hair and slowly pulled his hips back.

A moan of displeasure escaped Sam's lips before he could stop it. Dean laughed roughly and thrust back into Sam's heat.

The breath rushed out of Sam's body and he curved his spine to press his ass back. Dean's breath caught and his nails dug into the sensitive flesh on Sam's chest. In a few moments they were moving in a steady rhythm.

Each time Dean's hips thrust his cock deep into Sam's ass, he would grunt softly- moan, whisper, Sam's name. It was perfect _hot_ , each time their bodies came together Sam felt a little closer to the edge.

Sweat slid down Sam's neck and he squeezed his eyes shut. Each thrust made his heart ache with pleasure. His cock dragged along the cool roughness of the sheets and he could feel all that want pooling low in his body.

Dean's thrusts came faster; his moans louder. The sound of that _need_ made Sam shiver and writhe against Dean's body.

Somehow, Sam managed to curl his fingers around the base of his weeping cock. He stroked the rigid flesh slowly then his body leapt forward when Dean's hand curled over his aching balls.

The touch was too much. Rocking forward into his own grip then back to press Dean's cock deeper inside him, Sam felt everything come apart.

His movements were erratic, his jaw clenched tight and he felt his balls clench and throb in Dean's grip.

When Sam came it was so hard that his entire body went rigid. Come pulsed out of his cock painfully; the hot splash of it landed on Sam's hand, his belly and his chest.

Dean's hand slid over Sam's body so his fingers could slide through the come on Sam's belly. He was rutting against Sam's body, his cock plunging deep and _hard_.

Then Sam heard the sweetest moan against his ear as Dean's body stiffened against his back. He felt each pulse of Dean's cock; Sam's own muscles still twitching and jumping as he rode through the rest of his orgasm.

Sam lost himself for a while. He lay there, hardly able to move except to reach for Dean's hand. He was quite certain he would never be able to move again.

"Sam?" Dan's lips moved against Sam's shoulder blade. 

"Hmm?" Shifting weakly, Sam managed to roll onto his back enough to see Dean's face. It was beautiful. Sweat glistened on Dean's skin, his eyes were dark and sparkling in the little moonlight that was making it through the window.

"Water," Dean said in a raspy voice.

Sam laughed as he struggled to reach the bottle of water that was on the stand next to the bed.

After Dean finally recuperated enough to stand, he retrieved a cloth so they could clean up. The lighthouse had become quite cold and the two men buried themselves under a pile of blankets, limbs entangled.

They talked for a while with the waves crashing far below. Too soon though, Sam found he couldn't keep his eyes open. As much as he didn't want their one day together to end, he was exhausted. His mind drifted. Eventually, the steady sound of Dean's breathing lulled Sam to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sam woke up he was in Dean's arms. It was, by far, the best feeling he'd ever experienced before 8 am. For the first half an hour or so he just lay there, his cheek against Dean's chest. He felt warm; he felt safe and Sam wasn't used to either of those.

By the time Dean woke up Sam was getting sleepy again. He could happily spend the entire day lying in bed with Dean. He could always send the hunter out for food and water. Smiling, Sam nestled closer to Dean.

"How the _fuck_ can you be smiling _this_ early in the morning?" Dean asked. His arm tightened around Sam's shoulders.

"Was thinkin' about spending the day in bed, sending you out there for food." The pads of Sam's fingers moved along the muscles cut into Dean's chest.

"Screw that," Dean said quickly. "It's cold out there. This place is like a gigantic concrete freezer." To demonstrate his dislike of the temperature, Dean pulled the blankets up until they were just below his nose.

"You get used to it," Sam mumbled. He had to tug the blankets down a little in order to keep breathing.

"Too cold."

"Pussy."

The covers flipped down and Dean's indignant face appeared. " _What_ did you just call me?"

Putting on his best expression of innocence Sam blinked rapidly. "I didn't say anything."

The blankets were suddenly a whirlwind and then Sam was pinned to the mattress. Dean's face hovered just above Sam's and he had pinned Sam's hands to the bed above his head. "What did you call me?"

Sam snorted and tried half-heartedly to wriggle free. Dean's grip was like steel. It was pretty hot. Silent, Sam shook his head.

"You'll pay. When you least expect it," Dean growled. With a smirk, he slid off Sam's body and settled against his side once more.

Sam turned his head just enough to study Dean's face. He looked relaxed and the dark circles that had shown under his eyes when he'd arrived were fading. He'd never noticed how long Dean's lashes were until they were settled on pale skin and found himself giving in to the urge to brush the very tip of his finger along them.

Blinking his eyes open again, Dean smiled. "What ya doin', Sammy?"

"Lashes." Sam draped his arm over Dean's waist.

"Yeah. _Stupid_ long, or so people constantly tell me. When I was a kid I heard Dad tell Mom they they were _girl's lashes_.”

It seemed a strange thing to say about your own child. Sam thought there was _nothing_ about Dean that was remotely feminine. "I think you're pretty perfect."

"You're biased." But Dean's smile broadened and he looked about as close to shy as Sam had seen him.

"Dean."

LIfting his gaze again, Dean smiled at Sam.

"Thank you, Dean," Sam said.

"For what?"

Sam shrugged a shoulder. "For everything, I guess. Except maybe the hunting thing; I probably could have done without the flying concrete attack."

"You and me both." Dean was sporting quite a few bruises himself although Sam looked like he'd gotten the worst of it.

"I mean it, though. Thanks for staying."

"Sam? I _wanted_ to stay." Dean reached up to sweep the hair back off Sam's face. "If I had a different job or if you lived on the mainland-"

"It's okay, Dean."

The expression on Dean's face didn't look much like he thought it was _okay_. Sam figured it was because Dean was a _fixer_. Wasn't that the kind of person who would hunt monsters? Protect people? Put himself at risk to take care of other people?

Dean's hand settled on Sam's neck. "I'll come back when I can."

There was nothing that Sam wanted to believe more. But he knew how the world worked; he knew how _people_ worked. While Dean had talked about hunting, Sam had listened intently. Dean was on the road all the time. Sometimes, he was in two or three different states in a week. There wasn't going to be time in Dean's life to fit in a trip back to the coast very often.

"Sam? I _mean_ it." Dean leaned in to press his lips to Sam's softly. It was gentle and, Sam supposed, Dean's attempt at a promise. 

As they broke from the kiss, Sam held Dean close; their foreheads rested together. There was nothing that Sam could say, nothing he was entitled to ask. The only word going through Sam's mind was _stay_.

After a long while, Dean rolled away slightly and stared up at the ceiling. "Guess we should get movin'. You promised Erma we'd have breakfast there."

And just like _that_ , the leaving started.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

Erma seemed pleased to see Sam and Dean when they arrived at the cafe. She had them seated in front of steaming hot coffees almost immediately. 

There were a few regulars in the cafe; Sunday was usually Erma's busiest day. Sam couldn't help but notice the eyes that were darting their way. As it was, Sam remained a bit of a unknown to most of the island's residents. With the added attraction of a stranger by his side, Sam was an irresistible target for curious eyes.

"It's 'cause you're so hot," Dean whispered.

Sam's coffee mug clunked against the counter as he jumped and set it down harder than he'd intended.

Keeping his voice low, Dean leaned closer. "People are staring. You're hot."

Rolling his eyes, Sam couldn't help smiling. The more he was around Dean the more that seemed to be his default expression. 

Erma headed over with two plates of food and slid them onto the counter. "You boys look hungry."

Glancing over at Dean, Sam grinned. "We were up really late."

"Uh huh," muttered Erma. She cast a knowing glance at Dean before turning to grab the coffee pot. After topping up Dean's mug, Erma returned the pot to the burner.

Dean took a big bite out of his sandwich and moaned happily.

Erma laughed. "Dean, you have an odd relationship with your food."

Sam joined her laughter and nodded. If there was anything he had learned about Dean in their short time together it was that the man loved food.

"So, what's next for you, Dean?"

The question seemed to change the mood a little. Dean set his sandwich down and took a few moments to wipe his hands while he chewed. "I've got work in Oregon. Gotta swing by my friend Bobby's place to pick up some supplies and help him out with something he's got on the go." 

Sam stayed quiet when it came to Dean's _occupation_. He had no idea what Erma knew. It seemed as though Dean must have told her something, at some point, that had satisfied her curiosity. 

Erma nodded before fixing Dean with a look that would have scared Sam. "You gonna be comin' back to visit, Dean?" 

"Erma!" Sam protested quickly. He knew she meant well but it was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

"S'okay, Sam." Dean's knee pressed against Sam's under the cover of the counter.

"Of course it's okay," Erma said gruffly. "Just a normal damn question."

Dean smiled patiently and glanced at Sam briefly. "I plan to come back when I can, Ma'am. Sam. Well, Sam is a _very_ special guy."

A ridiculous amount of heat rushed to Sam's cheeks. 

"That he is, Dean." Erma folded her arms like she was waiting for _more_ from Dean.

"When I can," Dean repeated. "I'm not in the habit of makin' promises I can't keep."

It was better than Dean making false hope a permanent thing in Sam's life. _Much_ better as far as Sam was concerned. "Be nice to see each other again someday."

"Someday?" Erma echoed as she turned to Sam.

The conversation was quickly becoming more of an interrogation and Sam could feel himself getting more and more tense by the second. " _Please_ , Erma."

For _far_ too long, Erma just stared at Sam as he shifted nervously. There were times when he really was convinced he was an open book to Erma.

"Hey," Dean interjected. "We only have a little time before the ferry…" He didn't need to finish the thought.

For once, Erma relented. She nodded slowly and sighed. "Sam's part of the community here. I'm just lookin' out for him." She headed off to the other end of the counter to deal with some other customers.

"Wow," Dean said once she was out of earshot.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said quickly. Erma's behaviour had surprised him. It wasn't so much her words as the way she's looked at Dean; as though he was the enemy.

"Not your fault, Sam." Dean poked at the food on his plate before shoving a forkful of hash browns in his mouth.

It was nice that Dean wasn't blaming for Erma's behaviour but it had bothered them both, that much was clear. Sam didn't feel like his weekly trips to the cafe warranted such fierce protection. He'd never had anyone looking out for him and he'd always gotten along just fine. The whole situation left Sam without much of appetite so he pushed his plate away.

"Not hungry?"

"Not really. It's weird, you know?"

Dean put his fork down gently and then pressed his hands flat to the counter. "What's weird?"

"The way this feels." Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to put it into words. "We haven't even spent an entire weekend together but this feels-"

"Like shit?" Dean finished without hesitation.

When he was sure his voice would be steady, Sam looked over at Dean. "I have no right to want you to stay here, but I do. I've never… I've never felt like this about anyone. Even having you here for a few more days...would be-" Sam shrugged. He was worried that he'd said too much but then he noticed Dean was nodding.

"Don't think there's part of me that's not tempted." Dean's hands clenched into fists and he thumped them gently against the counter. "It just won't work. I get restless, Sam. I can't even explain it. Half the time I think I want some apple pie life with a picket fence, a mutt and a family…" Dean's voice trailed off and he looked like he was lost in thought.

"And the other half of the time?"

There was a smile on Dean's face for a few seconds but it failed to soften the tension around his eyes. "The other half I _need_ to hunt. I have all this … this shit built up inside me; it's like I _need_ hunting sometimes."

"Need to hunt?"

Shaking his head, Dean turned to gaze at Sam. "I need the _fight_. Maybe the adrenaline, the chase… something."

And there would be nothing like that on the island if Dean stayed. _Nothing._ "I understand," Sam said quietly.

Dean didn't look convinced. "I - let's get out of here. Come with me to the car at least?"

As much as Sam hated the idea of watching Dean leave, he already knew that he couldn't say no. He nodded once, pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple of bills on the counter.

Sam stood quickly and headed outside. He was in no mood to speak to Erma; he wasn't even sure he would be _able_ to speak.

As he walked away he could hear Dean's voice, heard Erma saying good-bye. Then Sam walked faster; he just didn't want to hear anymore.

When he got outside Sam took a deep breath. It felt a little like there was a steel band around his chest, tight and unforgiving. He paced over to Dean's car and sat down on the hood.

The bell above Erma's door let out its obnoxious little ring a few minutes later and Dean appeared. He looked a little frustrated and Sam wondered if Erma had decided to give Dean some more _advice_. "Erma give you more shit?"

"Nah," Dean said. "She's just worried about you."

"It's not her business," Sam said a little more harshly than he'd intended. 

Looking a little taken aback, Dean slid his hands along Sam's thighs and nudged in between his legs. "Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"It's nice to have people care about you; it's a good thing."

"Doesn't feel all that good."

"Sometimes it doesn't but it's what people do. Erma, she just wants to make sure you're okay. Can't hurt that someone has your back, right?" When Sam stayed silent Dean's grip tightened.

Relenting, Sam frowned. "I've always taken care of myself, Dean. I don't need anyone."

Hurt flashed across Dean's face and Sam wished he could take the words back. "I didn't mean-"

"I _know_ what you meant. Just. Don't take people for granted, Sam. Sometimes, they might screw things up but havin' someone who cares about whether you're alive or dead is pretty damn awesome."

The words might be true but that didn't make Sam feel any better about … anything. He nodded anyway. _So_ little time.

"Here." Dean held out a small piece of paper. "My numbers. An e-mail address and Bobby's number. You stop hearin' from me? You call Bobby. He's most likely to have answers. Just tell him who you are.” 

Sam's eyes widened, his heart beating a little faster. "You make it sound like you're just gonna disappear."

Dean smiled and shrugged a shoulder. "Hunting can be dangerous, Sam. I just don't want you to ever think I just _decided_ to let you go."

The thought of something happening to Dean made Sam feel sick to his stomach. Dean was absolutely right, anything could happen to him while he was hunting and Sam would never know. Frustrated, and scared, Sam ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "This is _so_ messed up."

"Welcome to my life, Sam."

Finding himself at a loss for words, Sam slid his hands over Dean's.

"Sam. I _will_ call okay? This job I'm headin' to could be intense for a few days. I'll call as soon as it's done."

Nodding, Sam took a deep breath then stood slowly. Dean didn't give up any ground, instead he slipped an arm around Sam's waist and held him there.

Looking around nervously, Sam pushed gently at Dean's chest. "Someone will see us."

"I don't care," Dean answered quickly.

Sam didn't actually care either, he just wasn't sure he could take much more. "Dean-"

The ferry's horn sounded and Sam looked over Dean's shoulder to see it heading towards the landing bay. "Dean, you gotta head down there."

Rather suddenly, Sam was wrapped up in Dean's arms and being crushed so tightly he could hardly breathe. Dean's lips pressed to Sam's cheekbone then he whispered, "Come with me."

"What?" Sam struggled to pull back so he could see Dean's face.

"Come with me," Dean said a little louder.

Sam wanted to say _yes_. He really wanted to be the kind of guy who could just say _fuck it_ and leave what little he had behind. But, Sam had never been very good with _what ifs_. And there were so many. What if Dean changed his mind? What if he wasn't who Sam thought he was? What if?

"I can't, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean held on _too_ tightly for a few long moments. Then, after a sigh, he stepped back out of Sam's arms. His eyes looked a little tired and his brow was furrowed. There was something heart-breaking in the way Dean was looking at Sam, like he was searching for something he'd lost. He licked his lips once, stepped back again before speaking softly. "I needed to ask."

All Sam could do was nod. There was nothing else left for him to say. He wouldn't ask Dean to stay because he knew it was pointless.

The ferry horn sounded again and Sam knew that meant it had docked and it was time for Dean to drive on board. There was an empty feeling inside his chest as though his heart and lungs had been scraped out. His whole world had been turned upside down in less than forty-eight hours. Standing there, less than two feet from Dean Winchester, Sam wasn't sure it had all been worth it.

"I guess that's last call," Dean said softly.

Sam nodded again and ran his hand through his hair. "You know where to find me."

Dean bowed his head for a few seconds then yanked his keys out of his front pocket. He stepped into Sam's body once more and slid his fingers into his long hair. His mouth crushed against Sam's painfully.

Sam moaned softly; just as much from pain as pleasure. The way Dean's mouth moved over Sam's was a little frantic, so urgent Sam felt it _everywhere_ in his body.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. Dean's fingers slid out of Sam's hair, along his cheek then fell to Sam's chest for the briefest instant. "Bye, Sam."

"Be safe," Sam managed to force out.

Dean nodded and yanked the car door open so he could slip inside.

One, two, three heartbeats thumped in Sam's chest and then the old Chevy roared to life. The deep rumble of it resonated in Sam's chest and he forced a smile onto his face. When Dean turned to look through the window, Sam pressed his hand to the glass. There was a smile on Dean's face; he nodded then shifted the car into drive.

Sam jammed his hands into his pockets and stared at the red taillights as they disappeared down the hill. Dean tapped the brakes when he got to the loading ramp then he drove on to the ferry slowly. Dean was leaving.

It took about ten minutes for two more cars to load and for the ramp to pull up from the island. The horn sounded once more and then, engine growling, the ferry began creeping away from the shore. "Bye, Dean."

Even though Sam watched until the ferry was just a dot on the horizon, he saw no sign of Dean. Sam had thought he might get out of the car and stand by the railing. But there really was no point in one more wave.

The burn of tears caught Sam by surprise and he squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments.

Footsteps crunched on the road behind Sam and his shoulders tensed.

"You okay, Sam?" Erma's voice was quieter than usual.

"I'm fine, thanks." Sam cleared his throat and dragged his hand down his face before turning to face her.

"I'm sorry he didn't stay."

Frowning, Sam cocked his head slightly. "Why would he stay?"

A knowing smile slid onto Erma's mouth. "I figured you might have asked him to."

"Well, I didn't," Sam said coldly.

"Sam, honey, I'm just worried about you. When you got here you -"

"I know," Sam interrupted. He held his hand up until Erma closed her mouth and nodded once. 

"Thank you for your concern, Erma. I'm - I'm sorry that…" Sam didn't really know what he was apologizing for but it seemed important. "I'm just sorry."

"If you need anything, Sam. Just come on down." Erma smoothed her hands down the skirt of her overly-frilly apron.

"I'll be fine, Erma." Sam pulled his hands out of his pockets and took a few steps away.

"Come down _any_ time, Sam," Erma said before she turned and walked back to the cafe.

After a final glance out towards the ferry, Sam began walking towards the lighthouse. He'd walked the road many times; it took him fifteen minutes to get there from Erma's. It had taken five minutes in Dean's car.

 _Dean_ was gone. Just like that, everything in Sam's life returned to normal. He might have told Erma that he felt fine but Sam wasn't sure he felt anything at all.

With only the sound of his own footsteps crunching on the road, Sam picked up his pace.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

The lighthouse had never seemed _empty_ to Sam until he arrived back there after seeing Dean off. As Sam climbed the spiral staircase every echo felt like the old building was mocking him. It seemed impossible that just the day before, he'd been racing Dean up the stairs.

He swore softly under his breath and jogged up the rest of the stairs. Annoyed with himself, Sam slammed the door behind him when he got to the watchroom. The solid _clang_ of it reverberated through the lighthouse.

In a fit of anger, Sam threw his keys across the wide room. They bounced off the wall and landed on the floor harmlessly. Sam just stood there looking around. 

There were signs of Dean everywhere. There were empty beer bottles lined up on the floor by the table. There were dirty dishes stacked up on the small counter near the sink. From where he stood Sam could see the rumpled sheets and blankets on the bottom of his bed.

He stared silently for a few more minutes then walked slowly to the bed. Shrugging out of his jacket, Sam sighed then knelt down on the end of the futon. He dropped down onto his belly and snatched up both pillows to tuck them under his head. The soft cotton pillowcases smelled like Dean.

Sam hadn't cried for a very long time. He'd learned very young that it didn't change anything. This time, it was beyond his control.

The tears welled in Sam's eyes and he felt them run cool and slow down his cheeks. Frustrated, Sam rubbed his face against the pillow. It didn't need to be the end of the world but Sam couldn't' seem to convince himself of that. Each time he tried to tell himself that Dean would call, that little voice inside his mind was right there telling Sam it wasn't time.

A lifetime of proof lingered in Sam's memory. Not one person who'd been in Sam's life had ever stayed. There were no Christmas cards from loving foster parents from the past. None of the other kids he'd roomed with had stayed in touch, never a single phone call. People were about as reliable as the island weather and the forecaster _never_ got that right.

Erma might have been right about Sam being hurt, but it still felt worth it.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

The Monday after Dean left the island, Sam didn't work. It wasn't a problem. In the three years he'd been on contract with the IT company, he'd never once taken any time for himself. In fact, Sam's supervisor had suggested he take the whole week providing he was willing to deal with emergencies.

The automated system at the lighthouse rarely had any problems and Sam was planning to stay there anyway so he agreed. Keeping the system running was a minor inconvenience.

By lunch on Monday, Sam had moved a backpack full of groceries, clothes and books down to the lighthouse. He'd even spent an hour hooking up the satellite dish he'd had for months. The reason behind that was two-fold: Sam would be able to use the internet and, more importantly, receive phone calls. Being so technically inclined had its advantages.

Once everything was set up, Sam grabbed a beer and headed up to sit outside. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun was warm on Sam's face. He settled on the storage box and set his beer down so he could check his phone.

Dean had been gone twenty-four hours and Sam hadn't received any calls or texts. Naturally, he'd tried to convince himself that one day wasn't enough time for Dean to even _get_ to his next job, let alone finish it.

The first thing Sam had done when he'd made it back to the lighthouse the day before had been to add Dean's phone numbers to his contacts. He'd thought about sending a text message but hadn't been able to come up with anything that would be the correct blend of humorous and interested.

He'd been known to over-think things.

The strange thing was that Sam _missed_ Dean. It was strange because Sam had made a habit of learning how _not_ to miss people. Survival would have been impossible without that particular skill.

But Dean's presence had left an indelible mark. It wasn't just the scent of Dean's hair on the pillowcase; it was more than that. The hunter had begun to edge his way through the walls that Sam had worked so hard to build up.

It felt strange to be alone at the lighthouse. That, wasn't how it should feel. Now, Dean's absence made his presence _needed_. 

Sam swiped his finger over the phone screen and flipped through the contacts to _Dean Winchester_. 

He swallowed and looked out over the sparkling ocean for a while. Finally, Sam locked his phone and slipped it into his back pocket.

The rest of the day passed so slowly that Sam began to regret having taken time off work. He read the first three pages of four books but remain unengaged in the stories. An attempt at a nap resulted in Sam lying on his back staring at the ceiling for over an hour before he gave up. In another attempt at distraction Sam had flipped through some TV programs until he'd seen seconds of them all twice. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so unsettled.

Sam cracked open a bottle of whisky at 5:07 pm and was halfway through it by 7.

Tuesday was a little easier. Hungover, Sam slept away half the day. He only had to kill a few hours before he could justify having a beer. It felt like a routine Sam could work with. So he did.

Wednesday was much the same. Then there was Thursday. By Friday Sam could no longer be bothered to keep track of the day or date.

Saturday morning when Sam woke; his throat felt like it was on fire. He took a quick look at it in the mirror while he was splashing water over his face. His throat was red and raw looking and Sam thought, somehow, that was fitting. What little energy Sam had left, he put into getting a bottle of water and some soft bread and then heading to bed. He remembered thinking, at some point, that he should have closed the windows; then he was sucked under into darkness.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

Sam could hear banging. Maybe he couldn't hear it, maybe he could _feel_ it. Maybe the banging was just the pounding in his own head. He'd awoken to that more than a few times.

It was incessant. Sam rolled onto his belly and buried his face into his pillow. He let out a frustrated yell into the soft pillowcase.

Then the banging stopped and Sam slipped back into the muddled dream that always seemed to be there when he closed his eyes.

There were always waves crashing; the sound of it was soothing to Sam. There were stairs everywhere: in front of him, behind him, off in the distance. But Sam never tired of walking them.

The ethereal lightness of the dream wavered when Sam heard his name. It was as though the sound sent ripples through the dream. Sam walked faster, taking the steps two at a time.

"Sam, honey."

The voice was familiar but Sam wasn't sure whether it was real of in the dream. The dream was where the pain went away.

"Sam. Wake up." 

Shaking off the sticky web of the dream, Sam groaned and flopped his arm over his face.

Something cool pressed to his forehead as someone pushed his arm down. His eyes protested when he tried to open them; they were dry and the room was entirely too bright. 

"Sam, it's okay." 

The voice was annoying Sam. He tried to grab at the cloth to push it away. The cold was making Sam shiver. The bed felt damp and cold and Sam reached down to try and pull the covers up. The problem was that he couldn't seem to find them.

There were hands on Sam's cheek; there was someone holding his wrist. _Someone._ "Dean?"

"No, honey. It's Erma." 

Sam tried to sit up but the world of _awake_ slipped away from him once more like water swirling down a drain.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

Sam's eyes opened enough that he could see through the blur of his lashes. Everything was blurry and there was something dark moving; it was ticking, swinging back and forth.

Forcing his eyes open a little wider, Sam could see a bizarre cat with bulging eyes. There were silver sparkles around his neck and a clock on his belly. It was his tail that was swinging back and forth.

"Cat clock?" Sam's voice sounded _way_ too loud in his own head. Pain tore through his skull and he lifted a shaking hand to cover his eyes.

"Don't you bitch about my decoratin'." It was the voice again but this time Sam was _painfully_ aware that he was awake.

"Erma?" It came out like a half-growl. Sam's throat felt like it had been sandblasted and he was beginning to think that he'd been run over by a tank.

"Try not to talk too much," Erma commanded. She sounded annoyed and _not_ very far away so Sam didn't tempt fate.

After an aborted attempt at rolling onto his side, Sam let his head fall to the side. Through strands of damp hair, he could see Erma sitting in a chair that was beside a bed that Sam apparently occupied. 

The still-blurry Erma leaned forward and wiped a cloth across Sam's forehead. It felt good and Sam let his lashes fall to his cheeks again. "Wass goin' on?"

"I told ya to be quiet, Sam. Your throat probably feels like hell."

Sam nodded weakly and opened his eyes once the cloth was gone again.

"You've been real sick, Sam. I came to the lighthouse to find you. You've been out of it for a couple days now."

 _Days_. Sam's heart thumped anxiously. "Phone," he whispered.

"You don't need it. Only rang once while ya bin here. Was your work people and I told 'em you were sick." Erma put the cloth down and rustled around on the nightstand.

When Sam pushed up onto his elbows the room slid sideways for a little while. A wave of nausea washed over him and he groaned.

"Lie back down; behave and I'll tell you what's goin' on."

Lowering himself gingerly, Sam nodded. He wasn't in much of a position to argue.

"Can you hold a water bottle?" Erma unscrewed the cap and held it out to Sam. 

He wasn't entirely sure he could hold it, but he _wanted_ it. Concentrating, Sam managed to curl his fingers around the cold surface of the bottle. The first sip soothed his throat a lot and he settled back into the softness of the bed.

"I hadn't seen you all week. Went up to the lighthouse but you didn't answer." Erma pushed some grey curls back from her forehead.

Sam nodded; maybe that was the knocking he'd heard during his dream.

"Brought back Harvey and Kirk from the fire crew. They broke the lock and that's where we found you."

The fire crew… the fire hall. Sam's eyes widened a little and he drank some more water. The fire hall he and Dean had set on fire.

"Brought ya back here. Doc had a look at ya the first night. Pneumonia. All those nights in that freezing cold lighthouse, I'll be bettin'."

For the first time, Sam noticed that Erma wasn't wearing her usual diner attire. The apron was gone and there were no black pants with her standard white blouse. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with _Hawaii '99_ on it. If Sam had the slightest bit of energy he would have smiled.

"Anyway. He gave ya some drugs and got you on the road to recovery. You've been here ever since." Erma leaned back in the chair and smiled slightly.

Sam cleared his throat after another sip of water. "Dean. He call?"

The expression on Erma's face darkened a little and she crossed her arms. "No, Sam. He didn't call."

In a way it wasn't a surprise. But then disappointment seldomly surprised Sam. 

"Sam. When we were at the lighthouse sure were a lot of bottles lyin' around. And darlin', you smelled like the only shower you'd taken in days was in whisky."

Shame slithered into Sam's mind and he forced it away It was nobody else's' business how he chose to spend his time. So what if he tried to forget for a few days?

"What day is it?" Sam's confusion beginning to be replaced by annoyance. 

"Wednesday."

 _Another_ Wednesday. When Sam realized he'd lost days, the fight drained out of him. Not only was he scared by the fact that he had no idea what had happened during the blank days, but Dean hadn't called. It had been far longer than Sam had thought.

He lifted the bottle to his lips again and drank until it was half empty. The cool liquid felt good on his throat but it made his stomach cramp.

"Enough water, Sam." Erma took the bottle and set it on the nightstand. "Couple more days and you'll be stronger. But you're not leavin' here until then. I don't care what you think; that's the way it's gonna be."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam nodded. It wasn't like he could actually get up; he couldn't even _sit_ up. 

"Think you could eat some soup?"

Right on cue. Sam's stomach growled. He nodded again and watched as Erma headed out of the bedroom door. 

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

Sam's misadventure with feeling sorry for himself hadn't done him any favours. After the first day he woke up at Erma's, things went very slowly for Sam in terms of healing.

The first couple of days he didn't get out of bed except to use the bathroom. It was only Erma's threat to give him a sponge bath that gave him the impetus to drag his ass into the shower on the third day.

After that, things started to get better slowly. The biggest problem was that Sam seemed to have neglected to eat very much while he was locked away in the lighthouse. Not only had he lost weight but he was _weak as a kitten_ , as Erma liked to say.

It was a week before Sam headed out for a walk and Erma had insisted on going with him. After the walk he admitted he needed to sleep for a while and Erma smiled smugly.

The strangest thing about staying with Erma was that Sam didn't hate it. Of course, it had been a little uncomfortable at first, but Sam had become used to Erma. They'd begun eating dinner together in the evenings when Erma got back from the cafe. After a week of being closed while she nursed Sam, Erma had been extra busy.

Their dinners together quickly became the highlight of Sam's day. For a while, when Sam was too exhausted to speak very much, Erma told him all about the island. Sam hadn't realized there were so many tales of adventure to be heard.

In many ways it was Sam's fault that he didn't know the stories. Even though he'd been on the island for a while Sam had made no effort to get to know anyone. He hadn't found it to be much of a challenge to avoid making friends. He didn't even know the names of everyone on the island, which was impressive considering how small it was.

Each time they had a conversation Sam learned a little bit more about the island and its residents. In turn, he learned about Erma and how she felt about everyone. She really did think of the island as housing one huge family complete with fights, personality quirks and deaths. The island was Erma's home.

A week after he'd woken up at Erma's Sam was listening to Erma talk about Kirk's fiancee. She lived on the mainland and the couple was struggling to figure out how to be together. It struck a chord with Sam and Erma must have seen it on his face.

"Guess you understand that, don't you, Sam?" Erma set her knife and fork down.

Sam finished the mouthful of chilli he was chewing. Erma's chilli was his favorite meal. "Know about what?"

"Same problem for you and Dean, right?"

The chilli felt a little extra fiery all of a sudden and Sam pushed his bowl back a little. "It's not really the same thing," Sam said softly. "We don't even really know each other."

"Sure seemed like you knew each other when ya were together." Erma settled back in her chair; a sure signed she planned to have a long conversation.

It _hurt_ Sam to talk about it and he hated that. He'd come to genuinely enjoy talking to Erma and he really wished he had something substantial to say. "Erma. Honestly. It was just a thing."

"A _thing_? Is that some kind of code you young people use for sex?" There was a teasing grin on Erma's face.

"Oh _God_ no. We are _not_ gonna talk about sex." Sam groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

"Oh grow up, Sam. It's just human nature. You think I couldn't see the way you and Dean were lookin' at each other? You lit up like a firefly when you were around him."

"Don't firefly's asses glow?" Sometimes, Sam could change the subject if he get Erma going on something else.

"Nice try, Sam. I mean - we can talk about your ass if you really want to. And how it might have been glo-"

"NO!" Sam took a deep breath and tried not to look as terrified of the conversation as he actually was.

Erma fixed him with a look that could wilt roses. "Did you sleep with Dean?"

"Erma!"

"S'just a simple question, Sam. If you're embarrassed about it-"

"I'm not embarrassed," Sam said quickly.

One of Erma's eyebrows lifted slowly and there was a challenge etched clearly on her face.

Sam nodded and shrugged a shoulder. "Why not? He's a good looking guy."

"And that's all there was to it, huh?" Judging by the expression on Erma's face she didn't believe Sam. "I saw you two together."

"We got along. He's hot. _This_ conversation is making me uncomfortable." Sam scratched at the stubble on his chin.

"First name you said when I found ya up at the lighthouse." Erma's expression softened.

"I thought maybe he'd come back and maybe that's why he hadn't called."

"Still no call?" Erma had given Sam his phone back as soon as he was well enough to get out of bed.

Sam shook his head. That was another thing he was _certain_ he didn't want to talk about.

"Why don't you call Dean? He seemed pretty taken with you. Bet he'd love to hear from you." Erma picked up her glass and drank some water.

Shaking his head again, Sam sighed. "Erma, he said he'd call when he was done his next job. He hasn't called. I think that makes it clear that he's not interested."

"Why d'ya say that?" Erma looked genuinely curious and Sam knew that she wouldn't give up.

"My whole life this is the way it works. People take what they want and they move on." Sam paused while he dealt with memories from his time with Dean. For some reason it was the afternoon they had watched the sunset that always came back to him. The afternoon sun had looked great on Dean's face. All those freckles.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, sorry." Sam leaned his elbows on the table. Just think about Dean made Sam feel even more exhausted. "I was just thinking."

"About Dean. I've been around you long enough that I can recognize that moony look." Erma smiled again.

"Honestly, Erma. If he wanted m- if he wanted to call, he would have. He's moved on. I guess I'm lucky I got what I did." It sounded far more pathetic than Sam intended but it was true. He was glad he'd met Dean. But Sam wasn't going to add insult to injury by calling Dean only to have an awkward conversation about how busy Dean was.

For a little while, Erma just stared across the table at Sam. Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh and pushed back from the table. "I best get to cleaning' up. You must be ready for some sleep."

Sam nodded. He didn't have to wait up for Erma to come back from the cafe but he looked forward to seeing her. His days were pretty quiet apart from a few work emails. Before he left the small kitchen, Sam leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, Erma?"

Erma turned to look at Sam, dish towel in her hands. "Yeah?"

"I'll be okay, Erma. And. And thank you." Erma had done more for Sam than anyone else ever had. Sam supposed that the brief taste he'd had of being _taken care of_ may be the closest he would ever get to experiencing what a family might be like.

"You're welcome, Sam." There was a big smile on Erma's face when she turned back to the sink full of dishes.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

After a week of good meals, a warm bed every night and the rest of the pills the Doc had left with Erma, Sam was ready to go _home_.

Home ended up being the lighthouse rather than the house Sam rented. Sam's house wasn't that much different than Erma's - minus the cat decorations and weird crocheted covers on things. There was just something about the lighthouse that _fit_ Sam. And he'd really missed the sound of the ocean.

It had seemed like a good idea to go to the lighthouse until Sam was trudging up the old iron steps. His lungs were still recovering and by the time he was halfway up he had to sit down and rest until the stabbing pain in his chest subsided. It would have been ironic if he passed out and took a tumble down the stairs after everything Erma had done for him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Sam huffed out a frustrated breath. He took the rest of the steps slowly so he didn't end up with another coughing fit. 

When he finally opened the door to the watchroom Sam was shocked. "Holy shit."

It wasn't that he hadn't believed Erma when she'd said it was a mess; it was just bizarre to see it.

Because Sam could only remember bits and pieces, it felt a little like the place had been tossed by a stranger.

He set his backpack down by the door and ran his hand through his hair. There were beer bottles all over the counter, a couple of empty whisky bottles hidden in among them.

All the dishes Sam had down at the lighthouse were dirty, scattered around the watchroom. There were papers from Sam's notebook crumpled up and scattered around.

Sam had a hell of a job ahead of him. Karma, he supposed. It was his mess after all. But his first priority would be the bed. All he really wanted to do was sleep and that's exactly what he _was_ doing less than fifteen minutes later.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

"Sam?" 

Sam clung to the blissful ignorance of sleep. He wanted to just keep dreaming; lose himself in the comforting warmth of the unreal.

Cool fingers moved over Sam's forehead. "Sammy?"

_Sammy._

Sam kept his eyes closed tightly. He was dreaming and he wasn't fool enough to open his eyes only to find he was alone.

"Okay, you're scaring me, Sammy."

Finally, Sam gave in and opened his eyes. A familiar pair of emerald green eyes was gazing down at him. "Dean?"

"Jesus. You scared me," Dean said. His hand swept damp locks back off Sam's forehead. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. Half his mind was still convinced he was having some kind of lucid dream. Part of him expect to wake up any second to an empty room.

For a few moments, Dean just stared with a strange expression on his face as his thumb smoothed over Sam's forehead.

Unable to take it any longer, Sam reached up and traced the map of freckles scattered across Dean's cheek. "You're really here."

Dean frowned briefly and tilted his head. "I'm not a ghost if that's what you're thinking."

"How…" As Sam's mind caught up with what was going on, he realized how bad things must look to Dean. "God."

"Sam, it's okay. Erma told me what happened-"

"When did you talk to Erma?" Sam's heart was pounding.

"She called me a few days ago. Told me how sick you were. And, Sammy… my last job didn't go so well." Dean dropped his gaze to Sam's chest.

For the first time since he'd opened his eyes, Sam took note of the marks on Dean's face. Newly healed cuts were scattered across Dean's lower jaw, trailed down his neck and disappeared under his collar. "What happened, Dean?"

Dean smiled. "Long story. I ended up with a nasty concussion and a couple broken ribs. Bobby looked after me for a few days - well, okay, maybe more like a week-"

It was Sam's turn to sound worried. His fingers curled tight over Dean's wrist. "A week? Fuck, Dean. Are you sure you're okay? How did you get here? Do you need to lie down?"

Dean's laughter surprised Sam. "One question at a time," Dean said.

"Dean. God. I thought-"

"That I didn't want to see you?" There was a stern expression on Dean's face.

For the briefest moment, Sam considered lying. It just seemed kind of pointless considering where Dean had gotten his information. "Sounds like you've been talking to Erma."

Dean's smile softened and he nodded. "She really cares about you Sam. Look. I was going to call right after the job. My injuries were - it was worse than I thought. I didn't know who I was, let alone where my phone was. Erma talked to Bobby first. He explained about what happened to me-"

"No one told me, I would have-" 

"You weren't even conscious at the time, Sam." Dean pressed his free hand to Sam's shoulder as though he was worried that he'd try to get up out of bed. "Bobby and Erma decided it was best for both of us if we didn't know what had happened. Kind of ironic when ya think about." Dean's smile was so warm and familiar that Sam was almost drawn in by it.

 _Almost_.

"I've been up and around for a while. I could have come to see you. Erma has no right to make decisions for me." Anger was bubbling up inside Sam and he couldn't seem to fight it off.

"Cool your jets, Sam. It was my decision." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "When Bobby told me about you I called Erma. Well, I called your phone and she answered. You were still out of it. I said I'd come as soon as I could drive."

"There are _way_ too many people trying to take care of me all of a sudden." Sam turned his face away from Dean's touch and sighed.

"It's not like that Sam. God, you don't even have a damn car. How were you gonna get there?"

"I have money. I'm not incompetent." Sam wrapped his arms around his chest tightly.

Running his hands over his hair, Dean looked exasperated. "This isn't how this was supposed to go."

When Sam looked up he could see the sadness on Dean's face. Dean looked exhausted; he'd probably been driving day and night.

"Sam, you were supposed to be pleased to see me."

Sam was about to protest but then he realized how disappointed Dean looked. It was pretty much full on _just found out there's no Santa_ disappointment. For some bizarre reason that actually made Sam smile.

"I know," Dean growled. "I'm a joke. Look, I'll get out of here as-"

"Shut up," Sam interrupted. He struggled up to sit in front of Dean and slid his hands up Dean's leather sleeves. "You look tired."

Dean's face relaxed a little and his gaze locked with Sam's. "I am. Only slept a few hours in the car."

Somehow, that didn't surprise Sam. "In the car?"

"In the car." Dean's shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh.

"Let's get some sleep. Then you can help me clean up this mess." Sam pushed at Dean's jacket until it slid off the hunter's shoulders. 

Flashing a half smile, Dean tossed his jacket aside and climbed over Sam to collapse on the other side of the bed.

The lighthouse suddenly felt a lot more like home to Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam woke slowly. He blinked a few times as his eyes strained to see in the darkness. When he lifted his head he could see the moon through the window. He'd slept through the entire afternoon.

There was a quiet sigh at Sam's shoulder and he smiled. _They_ had slept through the entire afternoon. 

Dim moonlight filtered through the windows and Sam's eyes slowly began to acclimatize. Carefully, Sam rolled onto his side so he was facing Dean.

Dean was still asleep. He stirred slightly when Sam moved, reached out blindly and slid his hand over Sam's wrist.

Even in his sleep he seemed to want to keep an eye on Sam. It was cute although Sam would never admit that to Dean. But he _did_ like it. Touching Dean made Sam feel like he belonged _right_ where he was.

The blankets had fallen down to Dean's waist and Sam pulled them up slowly. New wounds were scattered across Dean's chest. The cuts were healing but they looked like they'd been deep. Little black crosses sealed some of the wounds. Stitches.

Frowning, Sam settled the quilt over Dean's chest. The cuts on Dean's neck and face seemed less serious. There were no stitches at least. Admittedly, Sam didn't know much about hunting but he wasn't sure what kind of ghost or monster could slice someone up like that.

It was strange to feel so close to Dean and know so little about him. They'd done everything backwards, but then, they'd been working with what little time they had.

Dean looked peaceful. Those dark lashes were fanned out against his skin. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed deep and slow. When Sam let his eyes move up the long expanse of Dean's neck he noticed that one of the cuts on the man's jaw was bleeding slightly.

Moving carefully, Sam picked up his shirt from the floor. It still smelled like Erma's laundry soap. He bunched up the corner and pressed it gently to Dean's jaw. It didn't look too bad but Sam felt like he wanted to fix something, do something for Dean.

"I pass inspection?"

Dean's voice made Sam jump. He laughed quietly then tossed the shirt over his shoulder and nestled down under the covers until he was nose to nose with Dean.

Before long, Dean opened his eyes and blinked a few times. "So?" he murmured.

"What?" Sam whispered. The lighthouse was silent save for the ocean waves far below and it felt like he should keep his voice down.

"Did I pass inspection?" Dean smiled slightly and blinked sleepily. 

"You sure did. It was just bleeding a little. Just wanted to make sure it was okay."

"Takin' care of me, Sammy?" 

Sam's first instinct was to deny it but Dean was right. He really didn't know much about _taking care_ of someone, but u with Dean it seemed to come naturally.

"Can I ask you something, Sam?" 

Sam nodded.

"What's with the mess in here? Looks like you had a hell of a party for one." Dean tightened his hold on Sam's wrist.

The full gamut of emotion ran through Sam in high speed. As always, his first thought was to protect himself. That would mean that he should make excuses. All that Sam had learned in all that time in foster homes was that showing weakness was _never_ a good idea.

But _Dean_ felt different. And he'd certainly earned some trust.

Tension wound its way around Sam's neck and squeezed until he could hardly breathe. He cleared his throat. There were a hundred reasons for him to trust and maybe it was time.

Closing his eyes, Sam swallowed around the lump of anxiety that had settled in his throat. "When you left," he began softly. "Everything hurt. I don't even know how it got to me; how _you_ got to me."

When Sam looked up he could see the confusion on Dean's face.

"It's nothing you did that makes me question it, Dean." Sam's head ached and his hands were clenched so tightly he could feel blunt nails digging into his palms. "Dean, it's me. The way I grew up. I don't believe in anyone; hell, i'm not even sure I believe in myself." 

Dean nodded slightly and sighed. Sam recognized the look on the man's face; he'd already seen it more than he should have. Dean was confused and didn't know what to say next. He didn't know how to talk to Sam.

"Two," Sam blurted out. "When I was a baby and nine that I remember."

Tilting his head up slightly, Dean's frown deepened. "Ya lost me, Sam."

Sam swallowed again and tried to find a drop more courage. "Homes. When I was a baby I was left outside an emergency room in a beat up car seat. Apparently, I stayed in two places then. I don't remember those. My records say there were nine foster homes in between group homes. Some of them I remember really well; some of them I don't remember at all."

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth, Dean nodded and settled his head back on his pillow. "They just kept movin' you."

Nodding, Sam reached out and settled his hand on Dean's hip. "At first I was _too hard to handle_. Later on, my file lists behavioural problems. Inability to bond. Aggression."

"You were just a kid, Sam."

"I know. I mean, the rational part of me knows that. But the rest of me…" Sam felt a little lost. it was easy to _think_ he should just explain everything but he'd forgotten how it felt to be laid out in front of someone with all his flaws exposed. He'd also forgotten it meant that he should understand himself.

Dean must have seen the confusion on Sam's face because he shifted closer and slipped his arm over Sam's waist. "It's okay, Sam."

"My file said something about me not developing emotionally because I never bonded with anyone...no mom, no dad. They maybe… they must have known something was wrong with me." There was a now-familiar ache in Sam's chest and he rubbed at it until Dean caught his hand.

"Sam? You're not some kind of monster," Dean said firmly.

Sam wished that was easy to believe. “I'm not okay though, Dean. Sometimes, I get my feelings all screwed up; I interpret things wrong, and I-"

"Hey, Sammy. One step at a time. Okay? We can figure things out as they come up. Right?" A smile grew on Dean's lips slowly and his warm hand pressed flat against the small of Sam's back.

"Just. Just don't give up on me, okay? Don't think I'm just some cold asshole. Its all in me. I feel, I just. I just don't always know what to do with it.”

Dean's free hand slid into Sam's hair at his temple. He curled his fingers into a fist and held Sam still. "I came back, Sam. I came back for _you_. Drove four fuckin' days with about six hours of sleep in total. _For you._ "

Because Dean wouldn't let him look away, Sam closed his eyes tightly. Dean was kind of too good to be true.

"Sam," Dean warned. His fingers tightened a little more in Sam's hair.

Finally, Sam gave in and opened his eyes. His gaze locked with Dean's and the knot of feelings inside him began to unravel slowly.

Dean's grip on his hair loosened enough for Sam to nod. 

"One step at a time," Dean said softly.

"One," Sam echoed.

They breathed the same air for a while, staring into each others' eyes. It made Sam feel a little exposed and he dug his fingers into the warm flesh of Dean's hip.

The distance between their bodies disappeared in an instant when Dean slanted his mouth over Sam's.

Every heart beat in Sam's chest was a little stronger than the last. Each breath was a little more difficult to draw in than the previous one had been. It was Dean. The slide of his lips made it impossible for Sam to think. The almost-painful grip of Dean's hand in his hair made Sam shiver with anticipation.

To get even _closer_ Sam rolled into Dean and tried to push him over onto his back. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and Sam froze. He knew the sound of pain.

"S'okay," Dean murmured. But he held Sam back a little and seemed to be trying to catch his breath.

"Dean? Are you alright?" Reluctant to touch Dean, Sam's let his hand hover over the man's body. 

"Ribs." Dean breathed a little shallower and pressed his hand to his side.

" _Jesus_." It infuriated Sam that he'd forgotten about Dean's injuries so quickly. He laid his hand gently on Dean's chest and rubbed slowly. It seemed to sooth Dean; the furrow on his brow softened and his breathing evened out.

"Forgot I was hurt," Dean said weakly. His body seemed to sink lower into the mattress as he sighed.

"You need anything?"

Shaking his head slowly, Dean smiled.

"Guess I broke ya." Sam's attempt at humor didn't do much to make him feel better.

"S'all good." Dean shifted onto his back and finally looked like he was breathing properly.

"Looks like you shouldn't move very much." Sam was still rubbing Dean's chest; his fingers were spread wide over warm skin.

"Prob'ly not," Dean said. He lifted his hand cautiously and rubbed his temple.

Sliding his hand lower, Sam ran his fingers around the new cuts on Dean's chest. The goose bumps that spread across Dean's flesh pleased Sam. "Feel good?"

"Uh. Yeah, Sam," Dean muttered. He reached up to cup Sam's cheek.

Sam only had to turn his head slightly to run his parted lips the length of Dean's index finger. His tongue circled the tip of Dean's finger before he sucked it into his mouth.

Dean's eyes widened slightly and his thumb caressed San's cheek gently. "Jesus, Sam. I - I can't-"

But Sam figured there were _some_ things that they could do without causing Dean any more pain.

When Dean tried to pull his finger from Sam's mouth, Sam caught it with his teeth. He groaned sweetly; begging without words for Dean to let him do what he wanted.

Somehow, Dean seemed to understand. He relaxed again, not fighting Sam's hold on his finger. 

As he swirled his tongue around Dean's finger, Sam couldn't help smiling. Closing his lips around Dean's flesh; Sam sucked hard and then he pulled away.

Moaning roughly, Dean let his hand fall to Sam's chest. He slid his cool, wet fingertip over Sam's nipple, teasing the flesh hard.

When it came to Dean, Sam always seemed to lose control so quickly. The slightest touch and Sam felt like his skin was vibrating. He just _wanted_ Dean.

Slipping down a little further beneath the covers, Sam pressed his lips to Dean's ribcage. He kissed and licked his way down Dean's skin.

Moaning, Dean curled his arm over Sam's shoulders protectively. He was gentle, giving Sam all the leeway he wanted. Sam planned to take advantage of it.

The hot flesh covering Dean's hip was smooth under Sam's lips. He drew his tongue along the slight curve of Dean's hipbone, thrilling at the gentle rise and fall of Dean's hips.

It had to feel intense for Dean as well. His breath was shallow again, his back arching slightly, hips rocking up off the bed slowly.

"Don't hurt yourself," Sam ordered. He held Dean's hips still for a few moments, smiling at the frustrated growl that escaped Dean's lips.

"Don't tease then," Dean growled.

"Don't be bossy," Sam jibed. In case Dean didn't get the message, Sam sucked hard on Dean's tender flesh until he felt the heat of blood warming the skin. The idea of leaving a mark on Dean made sweat break out on Sam's forehead. Heat trickled through Sam's veins and he dragged his tongue over the mark knowing it would be sensitive.

The covers were pulled down away from Sam's head and Dean let out a groan that nearly made Sam's heart stop. The few sounds that Dean allowed himself to make were the hottest thing Sam had ever heard. So much restraint.

Dean's hands moved restlessly over Sam's hair, his shoulders and arms.

Sam slid his palm up to press against Dean's chest in case he had any notions about moving. There was a little sweat on Dean's skin and Sam was sure he could feel the hunter's heartbeat.

Sam slid his leg over both of Dean's and shifted as close as he could get. The cool air in the watchroom felt good on his overheated flesh.

The musky scent of Dean's body was a little dizzying. Sam took a deep breath and nuzzled into the wiry hair that surrounded the base of Dean's cock. It was like being enveloped in Dean and Sam couldn't help the way he had to press his cock _hard_ against Dean's leg. Moaning, Sam let his fingers trail down Dean's chest, through the fine hairs on his belly until he felt slick pre-come against his wrist.

Dean's cock twitched against Sam's wrist. Smiling, Sam nudged his nose against the hot skin and closed his eyes.

Another gravelly moan passed Dean's lips and his hips shifted to chase Sam's fleeting touch.

"Sam," Dean murmured.

Placing a soft kiss on Dean's belly, Sam ran the pad of his thumb down the full length of Dean's arousal. It was hard, the skin over-heated, the head weeping pre-come.

Dean's body began to tremble and his hands left Sam's body to snatch at the sheets. His hips pushed up, challenging Sam's hold on them.

"Just don't hurt your ribs," Sam whispered. His tongue sneaked forward to trace the ridge just below the head of Dean's cock. The skin was salty and hot and Sam couldn't resist the urge to lap his way down the length of it. Every time he lifted his tongue Dean would arch up as much as he could to get it back.

Sam's heart pounded hard in his chest and he ground his hips forward. His cock was aching, full and heavy just from teasing Dean. It was like electricity tearing through him.

"C'mon," Dean growled.

Sam laughed softly and curled his fingers around Dean's hard flesh; he squeezed gently. He was prepared for the way Dean's body jumped. As Dean's back arched up off the futon, Sam sank his mouth down over the head of Dean's cock. His tongue teased the sensitive skin, lapping up the slightly bitter pearls of pre-come.

The noises Dean made half-resembled words but Sam couldn't make them out. He was too focused on the hot flesh that was pushing further into his mouth.

Dean's movements were erratic, more urgent; he was panting roughly. His hips pressed up repeatedly, nudging deeper into Sam's mouth.

Sam opened his jaw wider, and let his teeth graze over Dean's flesh. After a final sweep of his tongue to lap up more pre-come, Sam drew more of Dean's shaft in. He sucked, swallowing as Dean slid his cock deeper.

The heat of flesh in Sam's mouth was intoxicating. He didn't care that it was difficult to breathe; all he wanted was to give Dean what he wanted. He let his tongue swirl around the rigid flesh.

One of Dean's hands caught Sam's hair in a fierce grip. He held Sam there as he teased both of them with shallow thrusts of his cock.

Sam choked once, then managed to breathe in rhythm with Dean's thrusts. He opened his mouth wider and tucked his hand under Dean's ass to urge the man deeper.

Dean let out a moan that sounded a lot like relief. He thrust deeper and Sam felt another burst of pre-come as it trickled down the back of his throat. A swell of _want_ and _desire_ caught Sam off guard. He hummed around the heat and weight of Dean's flesh and felt Dean tremble in response.

Reaching lower, Sam covered Dean's balls with his hand. He rolled them between his fingers then squeezed hard enough to make Dean groan. The pressure earned Sam another taste of bitter pre-come and a hard thrust. Dean's cock grazed the back of Sam's throat.

Dean's thrusts picked up speed; his hips moved in a steady rhythm. With each thrust he slid deeper.

Sam simply relaxed his throat and swallowed around the hot flesh. It was hard for him to focus. The soft weight of Dean's balls was settled in Sam's palm, his finger moved gently over the soft skin just behind them. Each time Dean pushed deeper, Sam allowed himself the pleasure of snapping his own hips forward, pressing his aching cock against Dean's leg. There was a desperation to his frantic movements. The pleasure he chased was _just_ out of reach. The whole encounter was making Sam's head spin as though he was drunk.

With an almost _too_ forceful thrust forward, Dean let out a muffled cry.

In Sam's hand, Dean's balls seemed to quiver and both men moaned. Sam swallowed, feeling his throat clench tightly. He pushed further down on Dean's cock, cradling the warm weight of it with his tongue.

Dean's entire body jolted, his fingers tightening painful in Sam's hair. With one more slow thrust Dean hit the peak of his pleasure. Come pulsed _hot_ and _thick_ against the back of Sam's throat.

Each hot burst was accompanied by a shallow thrust and Sam swallowed down everything Dean gave him. The heat of it swirled through Sam's body as it crept stickily down his throat. He couldn't help rutting against Dean's leg; he just couldn't stop.

As he sucked and licked at Dean's pulsing cock Sam felt his own orgasm spark to life. It spread outward from a spark at the base of his spine. Shockwaves ripped through him as his shaft pulsed painfully against Dean's leg.

He was only partially aware of Dean slipping from his gaping mouth. Aftershocks of pleasure still made Sam's body twitch as he felt Dean tugging at his hair.

Struggling to move, Sam let Dean guide him up until their mouths collided. Sam whined softly as another flash of pleasure stabbed into him. His cock jerked weakly and he let his hand slide up Dean's body to curve over his shoulder.

 _Close_ , _perfect_ , _Dean_. The intensity of everything had left. Sam was barely capable of thought. He sucked greedily on Dean's tongue until the hunter yanked him back by his hair.

Dean mouthed his way along Sam's jaw and down his neck. All Sam could do was grip Dean's shoulder harder and ride out the trembling of his body.

When Dean's teeth scraped over Sam's Adam's apple they both moaned. Dean's moan ended in a low laugh and he loosened his hold on Sam's hair.

Bleary-eyed and weak, Sam lay there staring at the flush on Dean's neck and cheeks. He rubbed his hand over the hunter's chest then collapsed down onto the futon.

" _That_ was _awesome_." There was a stupid grin on Dean's face and Sam couldn't help laughing.

After a while, Sam could breathe enough to talk. "Ribs?"

"Now? Perfectly fine," Dean said.

"Endorphins," Sam mumbled in return. He opened one eyes and the room spun a little before righting itself.

"Who cares?" Dean answered happily. He manhandled Sam across his chest and sighed. "Don't know why I left you."

Sam's lips curved into a smile. Dean might be a little delirious but Sam would take those words. It felt impossible for him to be away from Dean. Shoving the painful thoughts aside he pressed his lips to Dean's chest. "I'm glad you're here."

Dean tousled Sam's hair clumsily then wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders. It was protective and sweet and Sam closed his eyes again. He had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark outside. They had plenty of time to sleep before the harsh light of day brought their reality back. Until then, Sam was going to hang on to Dean with everything he had.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

The morning had come far too early for Sam. He'd woken up hot and sweaty, sun beating down on his face from the closest window. He was practically wrapped around Dean and they'd laughed when they'd both complained about the morning light at the same time.

While Dean showered, Sam made a pot of coffee. As he passed Dean outside the bathroom door, he handed the hunter his first coffee of the day. He may not know Dean _well_ but he knew that a morning coffee was a necessity for Dean. Without it, Dean was only vaguely coherent.

Sam showered quickly, dried off and dressed while Dean watched from a seat by the long, curved wall of windows.

They didn't really need to talk. Well, Sam didn't. He really hadn't moved beyond the absolute joy and relief he'd felt when Dean had appeared. All he wanted was to enjoy Dean's presence, enjoy _knowing_ that the hunter was watching his every move.

They headed out into the sunny morning and Sam grinned when he saw the Impala. He pulled the passenger door open and dropped down onto the warm seat. Smirking, he kicked a couple of empty coffee cups out of the way. The car looked _very_ lived in. Four days of driving, apparently, required a large amount of coffee-to-go.

"What you so happy about?" Dean yanked his door shut and started the car.

"There a lot of garbage in here."

"Shut up," Dean snarled. But he was clearly fighting off a smile.

Sam laughed and he realized he hadn't laughed at all while Dean was gone. Strange. Or- maybe it wasn't when it came right down to it.

They hadn't discussed it but Sam knew they were heading to Erma's. One of the other important things in Dean's life was breakfast.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

It was only a little after nine in the morning when they'd arrived at the cafe. The place was buzzing with activity and Erma was bustling back and forth behind the counter. 

Dean chose seats at the far end of the counter and it was a while before Erma noticed them. 

When she spotted the two men together, Erma put her hands on her hips and shook her head fondly. As she headed towards them she grabbed a couple of the old plastic menus.

"Well. Two handsome young men, so early in the morning," Erma said. She leaned back against the prep counter behind her and smiled.

"Hey, Erma." Dean winked and turned his coffee mug right side up. "Let's have some of that marvelous coffee of yours.

Erma grabbed the pot off the burner and filled the two mugs on the counter. "Sam? How you feelin'?"

"God," Sam said softly. He was still torn over his feelings about Erma's interference. It had crossed a line but then, Dean might not be sitting beside him if Erma hadn't called.

"Dean? You got here pretty fast." Erma returned the coffee pot to the burner and peered at Dean over the top rim of her glasses.

Dean looked at Sam briefly then nodded and sighed. “Got here as fast as I could, Erma. Was worried about Sam."

Sam liked the sound of that and ducked his head down so no one would see him smile.

"I was worried about Sam, too," Erma answered.

There was a serious tone in her voice and Sam looked up to find her staring at him. "I'm doin' better. I'm good."

"You stayin' this time, Dean?" Erma asked.

Frustrated, Sam dropped his hand to the counter but before he could say anything Dean held up his hand to stop him.

"Erma," Dean said firmly. "Don't. Sam and I - we haven't even talked yet. It's our business -"

"Was my business when I was findin' him unconscious down at the lighthouse."

Dean's shoulders stiffened. "He got sick; that had nothing to do with me."

" _You_ didn't _see_ him," Erma barked. "And you?" She turned to Sam. "You fallin' right back into the same mistake all over again?"

"Stop!" Sam almost yelled. The entire shop went quiet for a few moments then people slowly began talking again. "Erma. I know you are worried. You took care of me and I thank you for that. Dean and I haven't even talked. We _will_ talk."

Dean nodded and Erma wiped her hands on her apron before turning to grab the coffee pot and head up to the other end of the counter. 

"You're both right," Sam said before taking a sip of coffee.

"I came back," Dean said quickly.

"I know." Sam nodded. "But, I shouldn't have let you get to me. I mean. I kind of fell apart when I went back to the lighthouse."

Dean turned on his stool and stared at Sam. "Shouldn't have _let_ me _get_ to you?"

Maybe not the best way Sam could have put it. It was too late to take the words back and it felt like they'd been shoved into a conversation neither of them was ready to have.

"Dean, I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. I just - I can't do this now. Not here." Sam was gripping the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles were white. 

He started when Dean's hand landed on his shoulder. "Sam? You're shaking."

Confused, Sam looked down at his hands and realized Dean was right.

"We can talk later. Just you and me," Dean said. His voice was soft, almost gentle and Sam blew out a shaky breath.

"Okay," Sam said.

From the other end of the long counter Erma fixed the two men with her gaze for a few moments before disappearing into the kitchen. 

"I dont' know if she's pissed at you or me," Sam said after a while.

"Both of us prob'ly," Dean muttered unhappily.

Nodding, Sam picked up a menu and looked over the words without absorbing them.

"Hey," Dean said a little more brightly. "Let's go down to the ocean after we eat. Whatcha think?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "But after that you gotta help me clean."

"That's right." Dean smiled. "The Samnado"

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed. "Very funny."

Erma appeared in front of them with her order pad. "Breakfast?"

Sam smiled up at her. "My usual and I'm bettin' on the lumberjack for Dean."

"Right you are, Sam." Dean held out the menu for Erma.

"Boys? I'm sorry," Erma said gruffly. She snatched the menu out of Dean's hand and stalked off to the kitchen.

"Wow," Sam murmured.

"Yeah."

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

Breakfast was good in spite of the uncomfortable beginning. Even Erma lightened up a bit and eventually chatted almost normally with them.

Still, Sam was relieved when they were back in the car and headed down to the boat launch.

Dean parked off to the side of the road and they headed down to the rocky beach. It was a walk Sam loved. When the tide was out, there were small rock pools; sometimes there were tiny crabs trapped in them. When the tide was high, the water was clear enough that Sam could see the starfish along the shore.

"Whatcha thinking about, Sam?"

"Starfish. Those big purple ones. It's a high tide so you might be able to see some."

The small rocks made a crunching sound under their feet as they walked. They stirred up flocks of seagulls as they wandered.

"You love the ocean," Dean said.

"I do." Sam had always felt drawn to water. Even before he'd seen actual waves crashing against the shore, he'd known that the would love it. 

"So. I guess the island is the perfect place for you. Surrounded by water." Dean scuffed the toe of his boot along the sand and sent small stones scattering down the beach.

"That's why I moved here," Sam said. "Well, it was a big part of it. It's peaceful. I lived in so many places where all I could hear were sirens and yelling all night."

All Dean did was nod as he kept pace with Sam.

"What about you, Dean?"

"What about me?" Dean bent at the waist and picked out a few rocks. Wandering closer to the water he threw one of them as far as he could.

"Where do you want to settle down?"

Laughing, Dean looked at Sam over his shoulder. "I'll be dead before I settle down."

For some reason, Dean's answer made Sam angry. If Dean truly believed that, Sam couldn't understand why he would commit to such a life.

"Guess there are no limits to what you'll give up for hunting, huh?"

As he returned to Sam's side, Dean smiled as he dangled his car keys in front of Sam. "Nothin' gets between me and my baby."

Even though Sam smiled he wasn't sure Dean's commitment to his car made him feel any better. "Well. At least there's that."

Dean grabbed Sam's belt to tug him further up the beach to a huge log. He stepped over it and sat down.

Straddling the log, Sam sat down facing Dean. Their knees touched, the toes of their boots pressed together.

There was a more serious look on Dean's face and Sam steeled himself for what was to come.

"Sam, I went on my first hunt when I was a kid. My Dad trained me; everything he knew is filed away in here." Dean tapped a finger to his temple.

"But you don't have to do it forever."

"No. I guess not. But what else would I do, Sam? No real skills other than killing things."

"Don't sell yourself short." It bothered Sam that Dean placed so little value on himself.

The first line of defense was on Dean's face; his brightest grin. "I can rebuild cars and I can cook a mean chili."

Frustrated, Sam looked down at the surface of the log. It must have been in the sea for a long time. The bark was gone; the wood was sun-bleached and smooth as stone.

"Guess you won't be stayin' here on the island then." Sam knew they'd have to talk about it eventually. Why not sooner rather than later?

After a long sigh, Dean shook his head. "I can't, Sam. Maybe if there was somewhere central, I could stop by there a lot more. Staying still, that's just not me, Sam."

Sadness settled heavily in the pit of Sam's stomach. He'd figured that Dean would never give up hunting, but hearing Dean _say_ it felt much more final.

"I help a lot of people, Sam."

"I know." Sam smiled and turned to look out at the ocean.

"Sam?" Dean slid his hand under Sam's and held on; he was quiet until Sam turned back to look at him. 

"Yeah?" Sam wasn't sure he wanted to hear anything else.

Dean's tongue slid along his bottom lip. "Come with me."

Several things happened at once. A cold air of fear settled along Sam's skin like a chill north wind but, at the same time, there was a burst of warmth in his chest. The cold fingers of panic toyed with Sam and he rubbed his free hand over his mouth.

"Sam?"

There was a burning in Sam's eyes and he closed them for a few moments. "Dean, I - there are so many things you don't know about me."

"We'll get to know each other better. But, for the record, I _do_ feel like I know you. Sure, I don't know everything. That happens when people are together."

"I can't' work on the road. I can't - there are a lot of things I can't do." Sam's wasn't even sure he could _have_ a relationship with someone. There were times when Sam thought he was too broken to even hope for things to be normal.

Dean didn't seem ready to take 'no' for an answer. "We could try, Sam. You can't know that things won't work until you try. A trial run even. A few weeks. One week. Something."

"I just quit my job? I give up the lighthouse and the ocean. The island is the perfect place for me, Dean. You don't understand." The panic was growing as Sam spoke. He'd worked really hard to get where he was. It had all been about finding the right place. He'd studied his way into a career that allowed him to work alone. There were no complications from co-workers. And the island … the imposed limits on Sam's world. The island cut everything down to a size that Sam could manage. Even the idea of giving all that up at once terrified Sam.

"I've got money, Sam. I can take care of that. Yeah, it would be really different for you. Maybe it won't work but how can you know if you never step foot off this island?" There was a sparkle in Dean's eyes and Sam had to turn away. He couldn't keep looking into eyes filled with _hope_.

For a while, Sam just focused on trying to breathe. He gripped Dean's hand tightly. It wasn't about money; it wasn't even really about Sam's job. It was just _him_. He didn't even know _how_ to be with Dean. Shaking his head slowly, Sam dropped his gaze. His long hair fell forward and, for once, Sam was glad he could let it cover the expression on his face.

"Sam. C'mon." Dean's voice was low and soft. "You and me, we're good together. I feel better around you, peaceful, like I can sleep without half a bottle of whisky to knock me out. You tell me it's not like that for you."

Sam _knew_ that he felt better at Dean's side than he ever had anywhere else. But that was on the island. Outside influences were really limited. "It's too much, Dean."

"What is?" Lifting his hand, Dean pushed Sam's hair back out of his eyes. "Look at me, Sammy."

Sam looked up; tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He was going to lose Dean and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Just try," Dean urged. His fingers combed through Sam's hair then his hand fell heavily on Sam's shoulder. "Just. Try."

"What if it's too much?" Sam finally asked. "What if I can't deal and you - and you…" There was the biggest fear; the one that lurked around every corner _just_ ahead of Sam.

"And I … what?" Dean gripped Sam's jacket and shook him slightly.

Saying it out loud would give life to it, make it a real thing that Sam couldn't fight off.

Suddenly, Sam just needed to get away. All his limits had been reached and the only thing that seemed like it might help was running.

So, that was what Sam did. He practically threw himself off the log and crawled until he managed to get his feet back under him. The racing of his heart was making him dizzy. He stumbled, sending sand and rocks flying up from under his boots.

"Sam!"

Dean was close and Sam picked up his pace. Tears finally slid from his eyes and the wind made them cool on Sam's cheeks.

"Sam! Stop!"

Seconds after Dean's yell Sam felt a tug on his jacket, then a solid grip on his arm that sent him spinning off to the left.

This time when Sam stumbled he didn't manage to recover quickly enough. He landed hard on his hip and rolled a couple of times before stopping flat on his back. Most of the air was knocked out of his lungs and he gasped for air. Dean slid to a stop on his knees at Sam's side.

"Don't do that, Sam. Don't you fucking run from me."

Dean's yell pierced through the panic that had enveloped Sam. Blinking a few times, Sam managed to catch his breath.

Dean leaned over Sam and pressed a hand over Sam's heart. "Breathe, stay put and listen. Can you do that?"

A frown settled on Sam's face and he turned his head to the side. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to see the fear that Sam couldn't control

The rough skin on Dean's palm slid over Sam's cheek and guided his head back until their eyes met.

 _Could he do that?_ Sam actually wasn't sure. His default was to flee if it felt like something was going wrong. Leave before people can ask you to leave; that was Sam's rule of thumb.

"Just listen, Sam."

But _this_ man; he was worth a chance, wasn't he? Sam nodded; he could listen.

Dean sat back on his heels but he looked tense, ready to leap into action if Sam bolted again.

For his part, Sam just stayed where he was. It seemed safer not to move at all. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, so tight the muscles in his forearms were shaking.

"All that time drivin'; I thought about this some, Sam." Dean let his hand rest on Sam's belly. "I had this idea. What if. What if you take a leave from work. A few weeks. If it doesn't work out, everything will be right here waiting for you-"

Sam's heart sped up again; he felt like there wasn't enough oxygen. _That_ was the problem: even Dean didn't believe it would work. "You'll. You'll just send me away eventually."

"What?" Dean looked completely shocked and withdrew his hand as though it had been scalded.

Dean's confusion provided _just_ the diversion Sam needed. Rolling onto his side he clambered up to his feet and took off running again. His pace was slower because he could hardly breathe and his chest felt tight and painful.

There was more pain an instant later when Sam was tackled from behind. The weight of Dean's body buckled Sam's knees and he fell face first onto the rocky beach.

Dean swore under his breath and crawled up Sam's body until he was practically lying on him.

Hot breath seared past Sam's ear and he tried to turn away. Some of the rocks were sharp against his skin and he groaned in pain.

"Sam. _Please_ stop. God, who the _fuck_ are you runnin' from?" 

"You," Sam said. "You. You'll send me away. No one keeps me. It's - there's something wrong with me, Dean." Sam lifted his head enough to let it fall down heavily against the rocks once more. He didn't know how to make Dean understand.

Dean slid his hand between Sam's cheek and the rocks. "Sam, stop. Is that what all this is about? The homes? All the places you lived?"

Sam tried with all that was left of his energy to throw Dean. All that happened was that he ended up on his back; Dean straddled his hips and pinned Sam's hands above his head.

"Enough, Sam. This has to stop. _You_ have to stop. I'm not those people; they were, they were fucking assholes. All of them. Kids are - you were just a kid. There's nothing _wrong_ with you." Panting, Dean leaned down until his lips were just a breath away from Sam's.

"You'll - you won't want me," Sam whispered.

A smile slid onto Dean's lips slowly "You're already wrong, Sam. I _do_ want you. I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was gone."

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to fight the warmth that Dean's words were spreading through his body.

Soft lips pressed to Sam's and were gone just as quickly. Sam felt Dean shift and then he felt himself being yanked up by his jacket. When he opened his eyes he was sitting up and staring straight into Dean's green eyes.

"Sam. Come with me. Quit your job. I don't care if you don't. I won't bring you back because I want you _with_ me. I don't know why I know this -'cause usually I don't know shit. I mean, it takes me forever to figure things out. But this...this I just know." Dean pressed his lips to Sam's again, then kissed his way along Sam's cheekbone to his ear. "Please, Sammy. Come with me."

Sam leaned into Dean's body and let himself be held. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to watch Dean leave again knowing that, this time, he wouldn't return.

More kisses trailed over Sam's cheek, along his jaw and he found himself gasping for air. Dean clasped Sam's head between his hands and whispered; lips moving against the sensitive flesh of Sam's ear. "Come with me, Sam. Please. We can make this work."

The walls were crumbling faster than Sam could shore them back up. He _did_ want Dean. Hell, he couldn't begin to imagine what his life would be like if the hunter left. He parted his lips, tried to get the words out but his throat was clenched so tight he could hardly breathe.

"Together, Sam," Dean murmured in between kisses he left all over Sam's face. "We'll make it work together."

Finally, Sam made himself nod even though fear and _want_ were tied together so tightly he couldn't even tell them apart anymore. There was no way that he could let Dean leave - even if it meant he'd be torn to pieces later. He nodded again and felt Dean smile against his cheek.

"Yeah?" Dean murmured. "You saying yes?"

Still unable to speak, Sam nodded again and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and shoulders.

"That's - that's great, Sam. I won't let you down. I promise. And _Jesus_ I'm glad you said yes. That's about as sappy as I've ever been in my life and now you'll be around to make sure I never live it down." Dean slid his hands up to comb them through Sam's hair.

Sam blinked a few times until he could finally focus on Dean's face. The smile he forced onto his lips was shaky but he concentrated on the tenderness in Dean's eyes.

"You're bleeding," Dean said softly. He lifted his hand slowly like he was afraid of setting Sam off again.

"Rocks," Sam managed to get out. His throat hurt like hell, his eyes felt raw and he'd never been so tired before in his entire life.

"Yeah." Dean lifted the bottom of his t-shirt and pressed it to Sam's cheek a few times. "Just scratches."

Sam couldn't really feel them. A strange kind of numbness had settled over him. He'd said yes and his heart was still beating; the waves were _still_ crashing against the shore behind them.

"One step at a time," Dean said as though he could read Sam's mind.

Sam nodded again; it was a little easier and he turned his head to kiss Dean's wrist.

"It's all good, Sammy." There was an uneven smile on Dean's face as he dropped his hands to his lap. "Back to the lighthouse?"

"Yeah," Sam answered.

They untangled themselves and stood. The late afternoon sun was warm on Sam's face and he let his head fall back so he could soak it up.

"Let's go, Sam." Dean's fingers threaded through Sam's and tugged gently. "You need some rest."

Trailing along beside Dean, Sam could finally draw in a deep lung full of crisp ocean air. All he wanted was to get back to the lighthouse and sleep.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

When Sam woke up from a nap that was damn close to unconsciousness, the sun was hanging low in the sky. He must have slept for a couple of hours, at least.

Rubbing at his eyes, Sam wrestled his way loose from the sheet that had captured him during his epic sleep. He looked around and smiled when he gaze settled on Dean.

Dean was standing at the sink washing dishes and, judging by the pile of them that was already in the drying rack, he'd been at it for a while.

When Sam looked around again he realized that Dean had been busy. Nearly all signs of Sam's downward spiral were gone. There were a couple of garbage bags by the door, a pile of dirty clothes had grown at the foot of the bed and the papers and books that had been scattered all over the watchroom were now piled on the table.

"Hey," Sam said gruffly. He rubbed his hand back and forth over his hair a few times. He could feel that it was sticking out all over the place.

"Sam. Back in the land of the living." The t-shirt that Dean was wearing looked familiar and Sam grinned when he realized it was _his_. "You miss me so much you stole my shirt?"

A plate clinked as Dean put it on the drying rack. "This place was filthy. Decided I would dirty up _your_ clothes."

Still smiling, Sam flopped back down onto the futon.

"Oh, _no_ you don't," Dean called out.

Sam heard the thumping of Dean's boots seconds before he felt the impact of Dean's body. The breath whooshed out of his lungs and Sam groaned.

"You are _not_ going back to sleep, Princess. After all the cleanin' I did this afternoon, the least you can do is make me food." Dean's expression was stern but the effect was undermined by the smile he was fighting off.

Sam smiled and pressed his palm to Dean's. He liked the way their hands fit together.

"What you thinkin' about, Sam?" Propping his head up on his other hand, Dean smiled down at Sam.

"Just waking up. Not really thinking about anything." Sam wove his fingers through Dean's and held on.

"How you feeling?"

As soon as Dean asked that question Sam remembered all the reasons he might not be okay. To buy himself a little time, Sam stretched his arms high above his head. It felt good when he arched his back. "I'm not gonna take off, Dean. Too tired."

"Good to know." Dean smiled as he rubbed his thumb along Sam's.

"What you want for dinner?"

"Anything." Dean looked at their hands for a few moments. "Sam? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Sam pulled his and free so he could prop himself up on his elbows.

"Haven't changed your mind, have you?" Dean's voice wavered slightly.

A smile curved Sam's lips then disappeared quickly. He blinked slowly, fighting back the anxiety that still lurked within him. "I haven't changed my mind, Dean."

Nodding, Dean leaned over to plant a noisy, wet kiss on Sam's temple. "Good, 'cause-" he shrugged away the rest of his sentence. 

"What?"

For a few seconds Dean just stared at Sam as though he were trying to decide on _exactly_ the right words. "Good," he began. "Because I don't think I could leave without you."

As frightening as it all was, hearing Dean say that made Sam flush with happiness. 

"Good."

"Mac and Cheese?" Dean asked happily.

"Huh?"

"You asked what I wanted for dinner. Ain't nothin' better than Mac 'N Cheese."

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

"She's gonna beat my ass or throw something at me." 

Dean busted out laughing. 

"It's not funny, Dean. Erma has a really bad temper." It wasn't as though Dean didn't know that. In his short time on the island, Dean had experienced Erma's anger.

"It's the mental image I got of Erma with you over her knee."

"Thanks, Dean. Didn't need to hear that." Sam rubbed his forehead and groaned. He was already nervous about talking to Erma; he _really_ didn't need any bizarre thoughts tumbling around in his mess of a brain.

"Don't give in to her whims, Sammy."

"Dean? Not helping."

Smirking, Dean ran his hand back and forth over the curve of the steering wheel. "I'm goin' with you, Sam."

"She's still gonna be pissed at me."

"She's gonna be _worried_ about you. If she's gonna be pissed at anyone it's probably me." 

They'd been sitting in the Impala across the street from the cafe for about twenty minutes. Neither man seemed to really want to confront Erma; least of all Sam.

Blowing out a wistful sigh, Sam shrugged. "Well. Might as well get this over with."

"Your call, Sammy."

"Let's do it." Dean pushed his door open and climbed out of the car. Sam followed reluctantly.

They jogged across the street in front of an old pickup that was rattling past.

When Dean pulled the cafe door open the bell rang and Sam muttered, "Fuckin' thing."

For some reason, Dean found Sam's frustration _really_ amusing and began laughing again.

Much as Sam loved the sound of Dean's laughter, he shoved Dean forward roughly to shut him up.

It didn't work.

Dean was still smirking when he sat down at the counter and flipped his coffee cup over. Keeping his voice low, Dean leaned over to say, "Let me get a coffee before you piss her off."

As Sam opened his mouth to protest (or swear, he hadn't decided), Erma walked up with a smile on her face.

"Afternoon, boys. To what do I owe the honor of a visit so late in the day?"

"Your coffee is great at any time of day, Erma," Dean said. He pushed his mug towards the pot Erma had retrieved from behind her.

"Sam?" Erma held the pot steady over his mug until he nodded.

The cafe wasn't busy. The only other person besides them was an old fellow Erma had called Callis. Apparently, he lived on the north side of the island. He'd be nursing his coffee for a while.

"So, Erma," Sam began. "Dean and - well. I, me. I mean, _I_ have some news."

"Oh?" Erma's eyebrows dipped slightly and she leaned back against the counter.

All the air in the cafe felt a little too thick and Sam glanced over at Dean for reassurance. Under cover of the counter, Dean slipped his hand over Sam's thigh. He casually sipped his coffee with the other hand and Sam felt a little warmth bloom in his chest.

"Erma? You know that Dean and I, that we were involved with each other," Sam said as calmly as he could.

"We _are_ involved," Dean added.

Erma nodded once and glanced first at Dean, then back at Sam. "We're not gonna have a sex talk, are we, Sam? 'Cause I've had a fair bit of experience but I don't-"

"No. No. No," Sam interrupted. He _certainly_ didn't want the conversation to head in _that_ direction.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Dean lift a hand to his mouth to hide a smirk. Sam made a mental note to punch Dean later.

After one more deep breath, Sam looked up at Erma once more. "I'm gonna leave with Dean. He asked me to go with him."

For the longest time, Erma just looked at Sam silently. Just when Sam was about to start to run or hide under the counter Erma turned to fix her gaze on Dean.

"Dean. Why'd you ask Sam to go with you?" There was a fierceness in Erma's gaze that Sam had never seen before.

"Well, Erma. I asked him because I like being with him. I feel more at peace with Sam at my side than I've ever felt anywhere." A rosy flush reddened Dean's cheeks and Sam smiled.

"And that's a good enough reason to take him away from his home?"

Sam leaned a little closer to Dean. “I feel the same way, Erma." 

His interruption had the desired effect and Erma focussed her attention back on Sam.

"Sam, honey, you've been through a really rough time this past few weeks. Maybe now isn't the best time for this big a change?"

Erma's parental tone made Sam bristle. He squared his shoulders and matched Erma's gaze. "I don't know, Erma. But I wanna try. I want to be with Dean and we can't stay here-"

"Why not?" Erma interrupted.

Dean squeezed Sam's thigh so he could cut in. "My work, Erma. I'm on the road a lot.”

Shaking her head slowly, Erma wiped her hands on her apron. "Can't talk you out of this, can I, Sam?"

"No, Erma." Sam fought the urge to apologize, after all, he hadn't done anything wrong. "I'm gonna try. I want to make this work."

"It's _going_ to work," Dean added.

But Erma was still focused on Sam. "If you need anything, Sam. You _call_ me. I don't care what time it is or where you've got to, I will get to you if you need me."

Uncomfortable, Sam shifted on the stool and nodded quickly. "Thanks, Erma."

"And you." Erma stepped forward to stab a sister against Dean's chest. "Don't you _dare_ hurt him. On my life, I swear if you-"

"Jesus, Erma," Dean muttered as he rubbed at his chest. "I'm not gonna hurt him. At least, not deliberately. Sometimes I can be kind of a dick and I get things wrong but-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "Quit while you're ahead."

Erma stepped back again and looked a little defeated. "When?"

Guilt tightened Sam's throat and he cleared it nervously. "We got the car packed up. Next ferry."

"An hour," Erma said slowly.

"We thought it would be good for Sam to get on the road. Make a change," Dean said. He turned to give Sam a brief smile.

"Sam, you're sure this is what you want?" Erma had never looked more serious and Sam felt the flutter of nerves in his belly.

"You know what, Erma? I'm not sure." Sam pressed his lips together for a few moments. "But, I don't think I can stay here without Dean. I know this is all happening really quickly, but I …"

Dean's fingers tightened on Sam's thigh as he fell silent. 

"It feels right," Dean said mostly to Sam. His eyes were fixed on Sam's face. “I think we belong together, crazy as that sounds comin' from me."

Ducking his head down, Sam let himself smile again. Inside he was a mess of emotions but he didn't want Dean to see it. "It feels right," Sam repeated under his breath.

"Guess I better make you boys some sandwiches for the trip, huh?" Erma smiled slightly and headed off into the kitchen.

"Well," Dean said softly. "That happened."

All Sam could do was nod and check his watch. In forty-five minutes he'd be leaving the only home he'd ever had.

**/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\**

By the time the first blast of the ferry's horn sounded Sam and Dean were already by the car. Sam was leaning against the back fender, arms folded, leg twitching back and forth.

Dean leaned his hip against the car and reached up to tuck Sam's hair behind his ear. "It's gonna be okay, Sam."

There were so many questions racing around in Sam's mind but he only managed to ask one of them. "How do you know?"

Closing his eyes, Sam leaned into the warm, Strength of Dean's hand.

"There's something real special about you, Sammy. _Really_ special." Dean's cheek reddened slightly and he rolled his shoulders.

The ferry horn sounded again. That meant the ferry was docking and it was time to get going. 

"Here you go, boys." Erma smiled and held out a large paper bag.

"And how long were you standing there, Erma?" Dean had one of his most charming smiles on his face.

"Long enough, Dean Winchester." Erma pressed the bag against Dean's chest. "You take care of Sam. He _is_ special."

Dean nodded and leaned in quickly to kiss Erma's cheek.

Laughing, Erma shoved at Dean's shoulder. "Get outta here."

Heading around to the driver's side, Dean climbed into the car.

Sam shrugged his shoulders to adjust his jacket and smiled nervously at Erma. "Thanks, Erma."

"You take care, Sam. And don't forget: you need _anything_ you call me." Erma's eyes were glistening and she sighed.

Reaching out, Sam pulled Erma into a quick hug. It felt a little awkward but neither of them were _huggers_.

After a couple of seconds, Erma patted Sam's back and shoved him away. "Go on, ya big sap. Get in that car with that man of yours."

Half-smile on his lips, Sam nodded and pulled the door open. When he folded his tall frame into the car he couldn't help looking back up the hill towards the lighthouse. He really _loved_ that place.

"Sam, she gave us _two_ pies, some muffins and a bunch of sandwiches." Dean finished chewing, swallowed and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

Shaking his head, Sam reached out to brush crumbs off Dean's jacket. 

"Guess it's time," Dean said. He turned the key in the ignition and got comfortable. "You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. He jumped slightly when Dean grasped his hand. It felt good. He was always a little surprised at how much better he felt when Dean touched him.

He held on to Dean's hand tightly as they headed downhill towards the ferry ramp.

"I got a good feeling about us, Sam." Dean sounded a little different.

Sam looked over at him and sighed. When Dean looked over at him, they both smiled.

Off in the distance, the lighthouse stood tall and strong in the late day light. Sam was going to miss it. He was just certain that he would have missed Dean more.

The car bumped up the ramp onto the ferry. "Here we go, Sam."

Smiling, Sam nodded. The hardest part was over. The easiest part was going to be hanging on to Dean's hand. Sitting there next to Dean, surrounded by the growling rumble of the car, Sam found it a little easier to believe that everything would be okay.


End file.
